Rediscovering Daphne: A Chronicle
by cliosmuse
Summary: Niles/Daphne. Set after Dark Side of the Moon. Written in 2000.
1. Part I: The Truth Hurts

AN: This is an old fic, written between spring and fall of 2000. It takes as its starting point "Dark Side of the Moon" and goes alternative universe there. It's something of a melodrama, but I was a freshman in college so I plead ignorance. Just found it lingering on my hard drive and figured, now that all the old Frasier fanfic sites are shut down, I might as well give it some new life here. No need at all to comment; this is solely for your enjoyment.

**Rediscovering Daphne: A Chronicle  
****Part I: The Truth Hurts**

I walked out of my psychiatrist's office with my head down and my hands buried in my pockets. I didn't stop walking or even look up until I was safely into the calm, dim elevator. I leaned my face against the cool metal doors.

I was more confused than I'd ever been in my whole bloody life.

I thought psychiatrists were supposed to bloody fix things... Instead, she'd thrown a wrench into the machine, and it was stopping up the gears. Fast. I could feel them creaking to a halt. When they stopped was when it would hit me. Just don't let them stop until I'm in my own room, in my own bathtub, where no one will care if I cry.

The elevator door opened, and I was running through the lobby of the office complex, barreling past people left and right.

Never mind that this is HIS bloody building, where HIS bloody office is, where HE might see me. It just didn't matter. I had to get home.

I drove like a madwoman. Probably not a good idea, considering my state. If I'd been wise, I would have thrown all my concentration into the driving. It would have been a nice diversion. Instead, I made it to Elliot Bay in under five minutes.

I rushed into the building, nodded at dear, sweet Morrie, and pressed the button for the elevator.

Oh, God, I could feel the reality of it all crashing down on me.

Just a bit longer. Please. Until I'm in my room, where it's dark and cool and I can cry.

The elevator door opened happily.

Oh, God, not here.

The cabin was empty.

I threw myself through the doors, waited for them to close, and watched the numbers go up.

Three, four... ten, eleven... sixteen, seventeen...

Oh, good Lord.

I'm in love with Doctor Crane.

Almost on eighteen.

Just before it hit me, just before the machine realized that the bloody wrench was there because it had bleedin' stopped up everything that had been running smoothly before, I jabbed the emergency stop button.

The elevator ground to a stop. The cabin was thrown almost into darkness, with only the dim emergency bulbs at the corners of the cabin to retain some glimmer of light.

I sank into the far corner of the elevator, trembling, buried my face in my hands, and cried.

Good God. I, Daphne Moon, am in love with my employer, Doctor Niles Crane.

And there's not a bloody thing I can do about it.

* * *

I was tired.

In fact, I was very tired.

I'll admit that, as far as tolerance and patience go, I was a bit off my mark.

At the knock on my door, I glanced up from my newspaper, frowning. Is it so much to ask to finish the national news report in peace and quiet?

The knock sounded again.

Good God. I finally had gotten Simon Moon out of my apartment by practically threatening his excuse for a life, and I STILL couldn't find solitude!

Another knock.

I sighed, realizing my brother was not going away. What could he possibly want at this time of day? Didn't he have sessions?

Of course, I've long suspected that my brother secretly gave up his psychiatric practice after his divorce because he had uncovered some new, glorious secret about Maris about which she was happy to pay him to keep quiet.

I mean, my God, how else could the man have so much time on his hands?

Yes, I do see the irony that this is coming from a man who works three hours a day.

I stood, yawned, and made my way to the door. Before I'd gotten there, though, he'd knocked at least four more times, the urgency growing with each repeated attempt.

I opened the door just as he had lifted his desperate little fist to knock again. Thankfully, he saw me before letting that one fly.

"Niles," I intoned by way of bored acknowledgment.

"Frasier," he said with the same note of urgency of his knocks. His hair looked slightly windblown, and he was breathing hard. "Where's Daphne?"

Oh, good Lord. Not this. "I don't know, Niles. I imagine she's still at her anger-management session." I rolled my eyes as I turned my back to him and made my way to my wet bar. He followed me in and shut the door behind him. "Sherry?"

He shook his head distractedly. "No, no, she's not." He glanced only briefly at the glass in my outstretched hand. "Oh, no, no, that's all right, Frasier." The troubled, impatient look never left his face. "I saw her, Frasier."

Well, fine, then. If he doesn't want it, I'll drink it myself. I sat down on my couch, sherry in hand, crossed my legs, and watched him skeptically. "Saw her where, precisely? Is there a point to this story?"

He started pacing the area in front of the coffee table. "I saw her in my building. Well, I mean, in the lobby of my office building. I suppose she'd just seen Doctor McCaskill; you know, she's only a floor down from me. But I was coming into my building from lunch with Mel –"

I grinned. "Speaking of which, I heard from Roz that you have some interesting news..."

He shook his head. "Later, Frasier. At any rate, I was coming in when I saw Daphne storming frantically through the lobby, as if she were running for dear life. In fact, several people unfortunate enough to be in her path were bowled over and trodden upon. Well, you can imagine my worry and dismay. I promptly called my secretary, asked her to send Mister McGillis home, and drove to your apartment."

I sighed. "Well, she's not here, Niles."

He glared at me. "Well, her car is here, Frasier. She must be somewhere."

I rolled my eyes again and finished my sherry, placing the empty glass on a coaster on the coffee table.

Wait a minute.

Was my brother panting?

"Niles, it couldn't have taken you so much effort to press your foot against the accelerator in your Mercedes, nor could this rant have worn you out." I smirked. "I've seen you rant before for much greater extents of time without the slightest droplet of perspiration. Why on earth are you out of breath?"

He took several short breaths. "Apparently, the elevator is out of service. I ran up nineteen flights, only pausing for refreshment on the tenth floor when a dear elderly woman found me sprawled across the landing and offered me water to replenish me for the rest of my journey."

I stood up, slightly confused. "It was working fine just half an hour ago."

Niles shrugged. "I'm not really sure. There were quite a few people waiting for it in the lobby, and I heard rumors that someone had stopped it between the eighteenth and nineteenth floors."

It took it a second to dawn on each of us, but when it did, our eyes met. "Daphne."

He shook his head running toward the hall. "I told you something was wrong, Frasier. I've never seen her so upset."

He placed his hands on the elevator doors as if he thought he could pull them apart through brute strength. Or perhaps the strength of his will. "Oh, Niles, stop it, would you? You've sprained your wrist trying to pick up your dry cleaning. Do you really think that's wise?" I pressed my ear against the doors and faintly heard a choking sound. "Daphne?" I called. "Daphne, sweetheart, are you in there? Daphne?"

Just then, the elevator doors opened before me, and I jumped back.

My brother and I looked at each other. The car was empty. We were quiet for several moments. He finally shook his head, looking utterly distraught. I suppose he had seen this as his chance to help her, to save her, even. "I was so sure something was really wrong." Whether he meant with the elevator or with Daphne, I won't guess.

"Wrong with what?" I turned around, surprised, and was greeted by Daphne, who was just stepping out of the stairwell and was now walking toward my apartment door. She had a smile plastered across her face, but I don't think she was fooling either of us. Daphne emits... she emits... oh, all right, she'd probably call it an "aura" or something. Let's pretend that sounded slightly more of-this-earth than it did. The point is, though, it's easy to tell when she's upset, no matter how hard she tries to hide it.

Of course, that makes this scene all the more troubling. Daphne never tries to hide it. I cringed, recalling the recent four-car-pileup she had caused which was her ticket to therapy.

I sighed as she walked into the apartment, for all intents and purposes, aside from her polite, indifferent question, ignoring us completely. I walked up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Niles stood behind, focusing intently on her, looking more worried than I'd ever seen him. "Daphne, are you all right?"

She didn't turn around. She took a deep breath, shrugged my hand off her shoulder, and headed to her room. "I'll be in my room."

We watched her walk away. When she was gone, I turned to my brother. "I'm sorry for being snappish with you, Niles. I see why you were concerned." I leaned back against the arm of my sofa. "I wish there were some way we could find out what was discussed in this little session of hers." I glanced at my brother, suggestion in my eyes.

He gasped. "Frasier, you're not suggesting – I will not invade her privacy, no matter the reason!"

Before I go on, you must understand something, something which you've probably guessed. It must be obvious.

My brother is unconditionally in love with this woman and has been for years.

"Oh, come on, Niles. You'd just have to have lunch with this doctor, remark that you're handling a case regarding a woman who was... I don't know... growing quite upset as her wedding day approached, and ask her if she's seen anything like it. You take lunch with her once in a while, don't you?"

Niles glared at me. "Yes, 'once' being the operative word! And it was simply to discuss the heating system which our two offices share, hers being directly beneath mine. We never could compromise on an appropriate temperature!" He began pacing. "Besides, Frasier, patients do mention specific names while on the couch. Don't you think that the dear doctor has already realized the Crane relationship to Daphne? She would never discuss her case with me."

I nodded. "I see your point." I paused. "There are other ways..."

He shook his head. "What you propose is a breech of ethics so heinous I cannot find it in me to believe that you are my brother." He walked up toward the back hallway.

"Niles, where are you going?"

"To see if she'll talk to me."

* * *

I was embarrassed out of my bloody mind when I heard Doctor Crane yelling down to me. So, in the space of a minute or two, I managed to collect myself, press the button for floor eighteen, and restart the elevator. The doors opened immediately. I stepped out, and they closed behind me. After several deep breaths (and a bit of reapplied powder to cover the blotchy redness of my face), I climbed the stairs one flight to floor nineteen.

They were waiting for me.

Now, I was on the phone with Donny. I'd needed to hear his voice to reassure me, to comfort me, to remind me what I have.

To get the machine back in gear.

"Hello, sweetie," he greeted me into the phone. "I have some big news to tell you tonight."

I snuggled into my comforter, pressing the phone against my ear tightly. "What kind of news?"

He sounded excited. I could just imagine him sitting, curly black hair all askew, suit a bit rumpled, feet propped up on his desk, grinning. "Aw, honey, it's big. But I want you to know that I'm not making the decision here. It's all up to you, okay?"

I smiled in spite of myself. "Sounds serious, but don't you think it's a little early to tell me it's up to me when I don't even know what it is? Can't you just tell me now?"

He paused. He was weakening, I could tell. "No, no, no. Wait until dinner. I'm taking you, Daphne, to that brand new bistro-thing downtown."

I smiled faintly. "All right. I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah, bye, honey." He paused. "Oh, and Daphne?"

"Mhhhmmm?"

"Are you okay? You sound sorta out of it. You'd tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?"

The funny thing is that it wasn't until then that I realized that my honest answer to that was "no."

I tried to sound cheerful. "Of course. Nothing's wrong. Now, I'm sure you've got some work to do. So get to it, then."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, laughing.

I wondered then if he realized that I was lying.

Probably not.

There was a soft knock on my door. "I've got to go, love. Goodbye." I hung up, jumped up, and walked toward the door. "Who 's 't?"

"It's Niles." His voice was muted slightly through the door. I wondered briefly why he referred to himself to me by his given name.

I wasn't sure if I could deal with him at the moment, but I supposed I'd have to try. It wasn't as thought I'd be able to stop seeing him entirely. I turned away from the door and walked toward my dresser. "Come on in, then."

He opened the door almost timidly, if the sound of it was any indication, and closed it with the same careful grace. I pretended to be mesmerized by a photo on my dresser.

It wasn't even a real photo. It was the photo that came in the bloody frame. The couple in the photo looked so happy. I'd made up names for them, even. Edward and Victoria. Now, for the first time, it struck me as slightly pathetic. God, Daphne, get a grip. I clutched the edge of the dresser nervously.

"Daphne, we need to talk."

Why does my heart flutter like this whenever he says that?

Oh, never mind. I remember now. We resolved that little mystery this morning.

"Oh, do we, then?"

What about? Has he realized my feelings? Has he come to tell me he's flattered, but he prefers Mel now?

He took a deep breath. "Yes, we do, Daphne. I – I'm worried about you."

I spun on him. I hoped my eyes were blazing. I think I only succeeded in looking fairly ridiculous, though. My hair was a mess, my makeup had tear-streaks running through it, and my face was contorted somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

Of course, he didn't look top-notch himself. His blonde hair was tumbling over his forehead in a messy way that was wonderful but, I knew, unintentional and apart from his usually meticulous ways. His lips were quivering, and his eyes were slightly red. But that always happens when he gets quite nervous. He looked wonderful and passionate and –

Stop.

"Oh, are you, now? Worried about poor little Daphne, that over-emotional Manchester girl who works for your brother? Well, Doctor Crane, I've already got myself one psychiatrist, and even if I didn't, I doubt I could afford your rates."

He looked stricken. "Daphne, that's not –"

I sat down at the chair in front of my dressing table. "No, I never bloody get it right, do I?"

My God. Does he think? No. The last thing I need is his pity.

He looked close to tears. "Daphne, you know I'm here as a friend."

I glanced over at him, still angry.

I'm not sure exactly why I was angry. He hadn't done anything wrong.

But he hasn't done it right, yet, either. All I really want him to say is, "Daphne, I –" No. I can't go there. I can't upset myself.

Damn that psychiatrist I went to this morning. Why'd she have to throw that bloody wrench in the clockwork?

"Are we even friends, Doctor Crane?" I don't really know why I said it, even. But I did.

He looked worse than stricken this time. He looked crushed. He bowed his head. "I had hoped you saw me in that light, yes."

I closed my mind, taking a step back in my mind. "Oh, Doctor Crane, of course I do, I'm sorry. I'm just... out of sorts today."

He looked down at me. He hadn't moved since he walked in. He stood perfectly still, trenchcoat covering his expensive suit, hands clasped before him. "Daphne, I want you to know that you can tell me anything. Please. Anything. I know something's wrong. Tell me, Daphne."

I laughed slightly. "You know, Doctor Crane, the funniest thing about that is that if anyone could help, it'd be you. Now –" I stood up. "I'm dog-tired. I was going to try to get some shut eye. I've a hectic few days before me, you know."

He nodded, looking sad. "Yes, I know that, Daphne." Then he looked up, questioningly. "Daphne, would you... would you have dinner with me tomorrow night? One last night out before you're married?"

I swallowed. But I suppose I do have to readjust to his company. And, as much as it scared me, I wanted so much to be alone with him. To know that he wanted to be alone with me. "That would be fine, Doctor Crane."

He nodded and looked down at his hands uncomfortably. "Well, Daphne, I hope you feel better. And, uh, if you should decide that you'd like to talk to someone, and that someone happened to be me... you know where to reach me. I said this before, but I want you to know... you truly can tell me anything, Daphne."

If only that were true.

I smiled sadly and walked over to him, giving him a hug. I was still somewhere between laughing and crying, and I felt closer to crying. "You're lovely, Doctor Crane," I murmured as I clung to him.

He held me tightly to him as if he were afraid I'd disappear, his breath hitching in a way that almost made him sound like he was sobbing. "As are you, Daphne," he whispered.

We held each other tightly and longer than was appropriate, but when I felt my own sobs threatening to break loose, I released him, tried to smile, and opened my door to let him out.

He gazed at me with a strange look, halfway between concern and confusion, on his face. Finally, he caught himself and nodded goodbye. "Tomorrow, Daphne? Seven thirty?"

I nodded. "Tomorrow."

After he left, I walked over to my bed and curled up on top of my comforter.

* * *

I left Daphne's room having not yet decided if the venture was profitable or not. She still hadn't told me what was bothering her, but she did seem a bit relieved after we'd spoken.

And she'd agreed to dinner.

And she'd hugged me, a wonderful embrace. I live for those moments with her.

Frasier glanced up from the couch. "So, Niles, how'd it go?"

I buried my hands deep in the pockets of my trenchcoat, swaying slightly. "I'm not sure, Frasier. She's definitely profoundly upset. She wouldn't tell me anything about it, though."

He nodded and went back to his paper.

"Has Dad said anything about her behavior these past few days?"

Frasier grinned. "Oh, what does Dad ever say? 'Daphne made me do my exercises,' 'Daphne made me walk Eddie all the way to the park twice today,' 'Daphne told me that horrible story about her great uncle John again today.' I don't think he'd notice a difference."

In the middle of his last sentence, the door opened, and Dad walked in with Eddie. "Notice a difference in what?" he asked indifferently as he walked over to hang his coat up.

I rocked back and forth on my feet. "Daphne."

Dad looked over at me, his eyes growing wide. "Yeah, I've noticed a difference. She's acting weird!" He stopped and shook his head. "Oh, wait, I forgot, she always acts weird. Never mind." He walked over to his chair. "Hey, did you guys catch that ruckus downstairs?"

Frasier took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. "No, Dad, I'm afraid we didn't. To what particular 'ruckus' are you referring?"

That got him started. "Well, lemme tell you! There was this huge crowd in front of the elevator! Apparently some woman'd stopped it dead for like twenty minutes! They called and called and called her on the little phone in there, but no one answered, so, get this, people were saying that old Mrs. McPherson must've died in there! And they had just talked me into calling some old buddies at the fire department when all of a sudden –" He snapped. "– it just started again! It was the damnedest thing!" He shook his head. "The boys downstairs are looking through the footage to see what happened."

Frasier's head shot up. "Footage? Oh, yes, there's a camera in the elevator, isn't there?"

I sniggered. "You should know, Frasier. You're the one who insists on perpetually undressing on the trip up for everyone in the video room to see."

He lifted his head indignantly. "I was tucking in my shirt!" He relaxed. "Niles, we could help them... sift through those tapes. Find out if our suspicions are correct."

"Frasier, I don't see how this is any better than..."

He stood up. "Come on, Niles, it would be very generous of us. After all, they must have so many tapes to go through..."

Dad rolled his eyes. "Yeah, considering the whole ordeal's happened in the past half hour, I bet they have dozens."

"Niles, don't you want to know?"

He was getting to me. I had to know how bad Daphne's situation was...

"Niles..."

"Oh, all right, Frasier! We'll go down!"

As we left, I could hear Dad calling to us. "What situation? Boys? What situation!"

* * *

My feet pounded against the biking path that encircled the park.

I got into the habit of running when Donny and I first started dating. The plan was to slim him down and tone him up. Not that I have a problem with his figure, mind you, but it's unhealthy. He's putting himself at risk for an early death, if you ask me!

Well, Donny didn't slim down or tone up. In fact, after the first eight or ten three-mile runs with me, he dropped out altogether.

I, on the other hand, became quite the addict. Before, I never understood why Roz had to run so much. Now, I do. It takes your mind off everything. All I have to think about is the rhythm of my feet against the ground.

Two miles down, three to go.

"Daph!" I slowed down and jogged in place a bit, looking around me to find out who'd called. Roz jogged up behind me. "Hey! I didn't know you were comin' out today! Why didn't you call?"

I smiled. "Didn't think about it, I guess. C'mon." We started up. It would be nice to have some company. Company that wouldn't remind me of –

"So, did you hear the latest on Frasier's twerp of a brother?"

Normally, I would have grinned. She's always terrible about him, even though they're quite good friends. They just can't stand being nice to each other.

Now, though, I couldn't smile. "What about him?"

Roz grinned. "Well, I ran into him early this morning at Cafe Nervosa. So we got to talking. Apparently, he proposed to Mel last night."

I stopped.

Fast.

Roz jogged on for several paces before she realized I wasn't up with her.

First what I learned this morning, and now – this?

"Hey, Daph, are you okay? Damn, you look like you're about to faint. C'mon, let's get you sitting down. How far have you run, anyway?" She helped me to a bench, my knees continually buckling under me on the way. She sat beside me. "Daph, I know none of us like Mel, but you for one should be relieved. I know you've been worried about this since Christmas, and now you don't have to be anymore!"

I forced a smile. "Quite right, yes. You know, Roz, I'm feeling a bit winded. I think I might go back to the apartment."

She looked quite concerned. I felt a bit bad for making her worry, really.

I glanced at my watch. "Oh, and besides," I said cheerfully. "Donny's picking me up in a just an hour! I'd better get ready."

She raised an eyebrow at me, clearly doubting my story. "Well, all right, Daph. If you're sure you're all right." I nodded and stood. "You call me tomorrow, okay?"

I smiled. "Of course I will, silly. In fact, Donny said he has some big news for me tonight, so I'll probably be calling you first thing in the morning to tell you."

She grinned. "Sounds mysterious. You get 'em, girl."

I jogged back toward the Towers. When I got to the apartment, the Cranes were nowhere to be found.

Perfect.

I went to my room, took a hot bath, tried to forget everything I'd discovered that day, and got ready for my dinner with my fiance.

* * *

"I don't know, Niles, it's awfully dark." We had convinced the security team at Elliot Bay to let us watch some of the footage. I explained to them simply that I was terribly worried about the elevator system and that I didn't know how I could live here, much less ride the elevator, if I didn't know what was behind the mysterious occurrence earlier in the day.

They agreed, but grudgingly.

"No, Frasier, I'm sure that's her. There's enough light to tell that!" He pointed to a form, crouched in the corner of the elevator, shaking violently.

I looked over at the security workers. "Would you boys mind rewinding this a bit?"

They scanned it back several minutes and began playing it. Sure enough, we clearly saw our Daphne step onto the elevator. She looked a wreck. She was pacing wildly about, watching the number at the top of the car as it ascended. And she was whispering to herself.

"There's no sound, I take it."

Leo, the head man, shook his head. "Naw, Doctor Crane. Sorry about that."

I shook my head. "Quite all right."

At some point, Daphne's eyes grew wide. She looked as if she'd been overcome by something terrible. She slammed her hand into the button, dragging the elevator to a stop. The lights in the cabin went off, and she collapsed into the corner weeping.

I glanced over at my brother. He was shaking.

"Frasier. Frasier. Look what's happened to her. Frasier, I've got to do something."

I glanced over at the boys. "Thanks, fellas. We appreciate it. Won't have to worry about falling to our deaths in that elevator, I shouldn't think."

I pulled Niles out of the office. We'd been down nearly an hour. Niles looked dazed. "Frasier, I've got to help her."

I shook his shoulders. "Snap out of it, man! There's nothing you can do!" I sighed. "Come back up to the apartment for a sherry. And tell me about this development with Mel. You'll feel better, Niles." I didn't want to tell him how worried I was.

He nodded. "Oh, well, all right."

Of course, it didn't help that we ran into Daphne and Donny on the way up. She looked... well, completely recovered. She looked radiant, altogether, as she so often does. It's times like these when I almost understand my brother's obsession.

We bid them good evening. As soon as they left, Niles fell hyperventilating on the couch. "Did – did – did you see – how happy – she – she – she looked?"

I took a deep breath and sat beside him. "Yes, Niles, I did. She clearly learned something this morning that temporarily put her under a great amount of stress. I think it's safe to say she's feeling better."

Niles looked destitute. "How can he make her that happy, Frasier? How?"

I don't often feel genuinely sorry for my brother. At that moment, though, I did. "I'm not sure, Niles, but apparently he does." I paused. "So what's this about Mel?"

He attempted a smile. "We're engaged."

I watched him carefully. This was wrong. I had to make him see that.

No. I have interfered in his life quite enough. Time to keep my mouth shut. "Well, that's... wonderful, Niles."

He cocked his head at me. "Surely you have an opinion on this, Frasier. You consider it rash or... or..."

I shrugged, going for indifference. "No, Niles. I'm happy for you. Now what would you say to dinner? On me?"

He took a deep breath. "Yes, Frasier, I think I'd appreciate that right now."

* * *

She'd been acting really nervous and high-strung all night. I blamed it on nerves. I mean, c'mon, we're getting married in, what, three days? The day after tomorrow, we had the rehearsal, and then the wedding.

And then we'd be married.

Damn.

I've always been pretty skeptical about marriage. I mean, c'mon, I'm a divorce lawyer. And I'm not gonna lie and say that being with Daphne has totally alleviated that.

But it sure helps a lot.

I think, sometimes, about what she told me her dad said those nights on her stoop while they looked at the stars, that the only man good enough for her would be the man who'd give up everything to catch stars in the sky for her.

And then, I start wondering if I'm really that good.

Because I start doubting that I really would give up everything for her...

Don't get me wrong. I love her madly, like I never dreamed of loving anyone.

But...

On this particular night, though, I didn't have to test my suspicion, because I didn't have to give up anything. I was lucky. It didn't hit me until later why she was so cooperative about the whole deal.

Anyway, she'd been nervous, so I finally decided, don't make her wait any more. Just tell her.

"Daphne." She looked up, surprised, like she'd, I dunno, forgotten that I was there or something. "Daphne, about what I had to tell you." She nodded and took a bite of her salad. "Well, ya see, honey, I've just found out about this great opportunity. There's this amazing law firm in Boston called Nickelson, Heathly, and Rowe. These guys are big. I mean, three of the top lawyers in the country. And, well, they heard about some of my recent work, and they want to bring me in. With the high probability of becoming a full partner within five years. I'd handle divorce claims and proceedings." I paused and looked at her, terrified.

What would I do if she said no?

Try to convince her, I imagine.

She was staring at me. Her mouth was open slightly, and her fork was hanging limp in her hand. "What?"

"My salary would almost double. And I could end up a partner in one of the most well-respected firms in the country. I mean, these are the kinds of guys who defend the O.J. Simpsons and the Bill Clintons of the world. Wouldn't that be exciting, honey? I'd be handling the divorces of the rich and famous. I bet we'd really brush shoulders with the elite!"

She was now staring vaguely over my shoulder at some spot on the wall. "Leave Seattle?"

I took a deep breath. "Well, that would be the downside, of course. But you could fly back to visit whenever you wanted. Or they could come to Boston. Frasier's in Boston a lot, anyway." I put my hand on hers. "Just think about it, okay? It would be an amazing opportunity for me."

Her gaze shifted, and she was finally looking in my eyes. She looked resolved. But she didn't look happy. Oh, God. She's gonna say no –

"I don't have to think about it, Donny."

Here it comes. Now I've gotta think up a strategy to get her to change her mind.

"I'll go with you."

What?

* * *

I looked at the clock on my bedside table. Damn. Three in the morning.

I fumbled for the phone and finally found it. If it was Frasier, I was going to kill him.

"Hello?"

"Roz?"

Ugh. "Daphne, when I said tomorrow, I meant tomorrow after the sun comes up."

I could hear her taking deep, shaky breaths, like she'd just been crying. Oh, no.

"What's wrong, Daph?"

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong." She was quiet for a little bit. I was about to ask her if we could talk in the morning when she started again. "I'm moving to Boston, Roz."

She what?

I sat straight up in bed, turning on my bedside light. "You WHAT?"

"I'm moving. To Boston."

I shook my head. "Daph, this is crazy! Where are you?"

"At home."

"Is Donny there?"

"No."

"Was this his idea?"

"Yes." She paused. "He got a very good job offer. One of the top law firms in the country, in fact. He's going to be a partner. Well, not now, but eventually."

I couldn't believe it. "And you agreed to this? To leaving Seattle?"

She gave a little half-laugh. "Well, I don't really have anything keeping me here."

I sighed. "Is this about Niles, Daph? Because I told you, he's over you."

She let out this weird little choked sob. "No. It's not. I just think it would be better for Donny and I to start fresh."

I hesitated. "Are you sure, Daph? We're gonna miss you so much."

I could almost hear her smiling. "I'll come back sometimes. Don't worry, Roz. We won't lose touch."

And the damnedest thing was that she sounded so sure. I knew right then that I'd never be able to convince her otherwise. I leaned back against the headboard of my bed. "So when're you leaving?"

"Well, after the wedding, we'll leave for the honeymoon, and the only thing we'll come back for after that is to pack everything. We've got an apartment waiting for us in Boston."

Wait a second. "Wait a second. When did he tell you about this?"

"Last night."

"And he already had an apartment lined up? What if you'd said no, Daph?"

She laughed. "Oh, he hadn't put any money down on it yet. He would have just called and said we didn't need it."

I wasn't so sure about that.

"Well, Daph, I guess we won't see each other much before then, except at your wedding. How about lunch tomorrow? Err- today?"

"Actually, I've got some last minute things to finish for the wedding, Roz. We'll take a rain check, all right?"

I nodded. "So, have you told the Cranes yet, Daph?"

She sighed. "No. Not yet. It shouldn't be a problem, though. I've been saying for years that Mister Crane doesn't really need me anymore."

Oh, they need you, all right, Daph. You hold them together. "When are you going to tell them?"

She was quiet for a little bit. "I'm not sure." She paused. "I should let you get back to sleep."

I turned off the light by my bed. "Okay. Goodnight, Daph."

She yawned. "Right. Goodnight, Roz."

This was going to crush them.

I lay down again but couldn't go to sleep. All I could think of was how I was going to keep this from Frasier tomorrow.

Or if I would at all.

* * *

"Well, Jenny, I think that, although your boyfriend might be hurt that you got married to someone else in Vegas this weekend, he nevertheless needs to know. If I were you, I would tell him as soon as possible."

Dear, God. What was it with these calls today?

I sighed. "Roz, who's next on the line?"

Roz looked up, a curious look on her face.

She'd been acting strangely all morning.

Like she knew something. Something she was dying to tell me.

But at the same time, she seemed... strangely upset.

"Next on the line is John. He's in love with one woman but engaged to another, and he's confused about the direction he should take."

I rolled my eyes. If my brother was calling just to get my attention, to get me to give him my opinion –

I smirked. "Well, JOHN... Or are you my brother?"

There was a pause. "What?"

Oh. Never mind. "Ahem. Just kidding, John, ah, brother." Oh, God. This day keeps getting worse and worse. "Well, a friend of mine is facing a similar problem. John, this woman you're engaged to. Do you love her?"

A pause. "I'm not sure."

"What do you think was your reason for proposing, John?"

Another pause. "I'm not sure."

"Do you think it had to do with your urgency to get the woman you love off your mind?"

Pause. This was getting irritating. "Maybe."

I rolled my eyes. "John, you've got to give me something to work with here."

"I just really don't know, Doctor Crane. I mean... uh... we'd been dating a while, and... uh... my girlfriend was getting a little... uh... jumpy. And this woman that I love, she... she wasn't coming any closer to falling in love with me."

I assumed my sincere, fatherly, radio tone. "John, as anxious as I know you are to get over this woman, you must not marry someone else just to forget her. If you were to do this, you would be doing both yourself and your girlfriend a great disservice." I paused. "Don't let yourself marry just to clear your mind of this woman. If you really do love your girlfriend, fine. But you can't ethically marry someone you don't love. You simply can't. And until you find someone you can love as much as you love this mysterious other woman, you can't commit your life in this way. Oh, and John?"

"Yeah?"

"Does this other woman know how you feel?"

Another pause. "No. I don't think so."

"Maybe you should think about telling her."

* * *

"Yeah, maybe. Thanks, Doc."

"You're quite welcome, John." Frasier's voice sounded tinny over the airwaves.

I looked up from my work at my desk to the radio. I suppose I can't really make fun of the insignificant problems of Frasier's viewers, now, seeing that this "John" seems to share his biggest problem with me. Well, Frasier hadn't wanted to express his opinion last night, but he certainly just did.

I took a deep breath. As much as I hated it, I almost always followed Frasier's advice. Even though he's sometimes wrong, he's my big brother, and I've always trusted his opinion. I think I always will trust it. "I think this means I can't get married right now."

"Did you say something, Doctor Crane?" My secretary, Mrs. Woodson, was looking at me strangely as she placed my mail on my desk.

"Oh, nothing. Nothing."

* * *

I motioned for Frasier to wrap it up. I try to do that a few minutes before I really have to, because he tends to talk on well after the signal. Sometimes, I have to bang on the glass between us before he even notices me.

All day, I hadn't been able to stop thinking about two things: Niles getting married and Daphne moving.

Damn.

I mean, I don't like to admit it, but Niles is... well, he's a friend, all right? And Daphne. God, she's just about my best friend. Other than Frasier, of course.

"Roz?"

Frasier had walked up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder. I glanced up. "Good show today, Frasier."

He looked concerned. "Are you all right, honey?"

I took a deep breath. "Not really, no."

He rolled his eyes. "Is this about a man, Roz?"

I scrunched up my face. "I guess you could say that, yeah."

He smiled at me. "Do you want to talk to me about it?"

"Well, yeah, but I really don't think I can. See, it's not about me, so I don't think it's my place to tell you."

That got to him. "Oh, come on, Roz, since when have you thought twice before gossiping to me? You told me about my brother's engagement before he did!"

I stood up and looked at him. "Don't tell anyone?"

He looked hesitant. He has a big mouth. I can see how he'd be worried. "Oh, all right."

"Daphne and Donny are moving to Boston in a couple weeks."

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened his mouth again. "Moving? Permanently?"

I nodded.

"You're sure?"

I nodded again. "She told me this morning. Donny asked her to last night. Apparently he's got some great job offer. He's going to be a partner in some mega-huge law firm."

He still looked dazed. "Moving? Oh, God, what am I going to tell Dad? And Niles?"

I glared at him. "You won't tell them anything. Daphne's telling them. And act surprised when she tells you."

"But Roz, if Niles hears this from her without a little buffer... He's very sensitive."

I grabbed his tie and pulled him down to me. "Frasier, she told me then in strictest confidence. If you dare tell him, I will kill you. Do you understand?" He nodded, his eyes sort of bulging. It was funny, really. I let him go. "Now how about a late lunch?"

* * *

I looked at my watch. It was seven-fifteen. Frasier'd gotten home hours ago and gone straight to his room. We hadn't seen him since. And let me tell you, that is WEIRD for him. Usually you can't get away from him. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's my son and I love him, but... well, he can be a pain in the ass.

Daphne had been working with me on my exercises since six. She was being a real slave-driver today, and I could tell she had something big on her mind.

"Aw, Daph, we've been going for an hour. Can't we give it a rest?" She'd been working my hip to death, and, yeah, I felt good, better even than I have since before the accident, but I was tired and I was hungry and I wanted a beer.

"Oh, you lazy old sod, get up." She was smiling, but I could tell something was wrong behind that.

She walked toward the kitchen, and I followed her. "Daph, are you all right?"

She stopped at the refrigerator and reached in. She took out a beer and handed it to me. Damn, I'm gonna miss her when she's married and lives across town, even if I don't like to admit it.

"Actually, Mister Crane, there is something I'd like to speak with you about."

Uh oh. It sounded serious. "What is it, Daph?"

She took a deep breath. I opened my beer and took a swallow. "Well, uh, to start off, I think your hip's doing very well, Mister Crane." She walked out toward the breakfast table, and I followed her.

I grinned and nodded. "Yep, I am doing pretty good, aren't I?"

She nodded, but she didn't smile.

Oh, boy.

"Well, Mister Crane, you remember a while ago, when you thought about moving in with Doctor Crane, and I told you I didn't think you needed full-time care anymore..."

I was getting sorta suspicious. "Yeah..."

"Well... I think you're at a point where you'll be fine without it, as long as you do a couple of exercises every day. The ones you can do yourself, I mean."

Man, I was shocked. And sorta scared. The last thing I needed was my own son trying to kill me again. "But, Daph, you said you'd stay on after you were married. You told us we'd still see you all the time."

She took a deep breath. "I know I did, Mister Crane. But, well, you see, Donny and I have decided to move to Boston."

WHAT?

"WHAT?" I shook my head. She nodded kinda sad-like. "Daph, are you sure about this?"

"Yes, Mister Crane, I'm afraid I am."

Aw, Jeez. Poor Niles. I mean, it's one thing that he's head over heels in love with her. But she's also just about his best friend, other than Frasier. I mean, he tells her just about everything (other than how he feels about her), and she's the same with him. Of course, they haven't seen nearly so much of each other since she went and got engaged in front of him, poor kid, but still.

"Well, Daph, you know we're gonna miss you." She hugged me tightly. "I don't really know what we're going to do without you. But you know, Daphne, you'll always have family in Seattle."

She nodded into my shoulder. "I know."

Just then, the door opened. It was Niles, looking all spiffy in his best grey suit. "Hi, all. I thought I'd just let myself in. Is Daphne –" He looked up and stopped. Daphne was still hugging me. "Is something wrong?"

I looked at Daph as she pulled away from me. She shook her head. No, she hadn't told him, and no, she didn't want me to tell him. She'd do it herself. "Good evening, Doctor Crane. I just need to go change and I'll be ready."

With that, she took off into her room. I looked over at my son curiously. "What's that about?"

"Oh." He paused. "Dinner tonight. I'm about fifteen minutes early." He looked nervous, almost like he thought this was a real date or something.

I just looked at him. "What are you doing?"

He scowled. "Nothing, Dad! Having dinner! That's it!"

I sighed. "I know this must be hard on you, son. I'm sorry about everything."

He nodded and looked down. I tried to brighten him up. "But about Mel... That's some good news, right?"

He looked pretty uncomfortable. "Uh... yes, I suppose."

Aw, Jeez. "What'd you do, Niles."

He started pacing. "Nothing! Nothing!"

Daphne chose that moment to come out of her room. She's changed into a lovely purple gown and had swept her hair up over her head, in one of those... you know... swept up hairdos... aw, never mind. She looked about as nervous as he did. But she still looked gorgeous. That girl always does.

Why did I feel like I was sending my daughter away to her first prom?

I guess Daphne is the daughter I never had.

Aw, Jeez, now I'm getting all sentimental.

Niles smiled at her self-consciously. "You look radiant, Daphne. You're ready?"

She smiled and nodded and was about to take his arm when I walked over to her and pulled her aside. He looked really confused, but I had to say this. "Are you gonna tell him tonight, Daph?" I whispered. She nodded, still looking sad. "Daph, please, be careful how you tell him. He's sensitive. I don't want him to get hurt." She looked confused and, if possible, even sadder, but she nodded and tried to smile.

"Goodnight, Mister Crane." Then, she walked up to him, took his arm, and let him escort her to the door.

It was a bittersweet scene, really.

If everything had gone right, this would've been what their first date would've been like instead of their last one, their final goodbye.

The door closed behind them. "Dad, are you all right?" Aw, damn. Frasier. I told you he could never stay lost too long.

"Uh... yeah, son. I'm fine. Something in my eye."

* * *

"Doctor Crane, this restaurant is lovely. I've never been here."

He smiled. "I thought you might not have been."

The maitre'd led us to a dark corner, almost as if he thought we were on a date.

Oh, well... I could pretend for a little while, I suppose.

He held my chair out for me then seated himself and ordered our wine. Something incredibly pricey, no doubt.

He smiled at me a bit nervously, looking quite charming in his charcoal suit, his hair immaculately done, his tie... his tie was the one I gave him for Christmas this year. It was a wonderful earth-tone that brought out the gold in his eyes. My heart fluttered.

"So, Doctor Crane, what should I order?" He gave me some suggestions (all of which were quite expensive), and I followed them. I was glad I did. He has good taste.

About half-way through our meal, he took a deep breath. "Daphne, there was something I wanted to talk to you about."

I looked up sharply, and then tried to respond nonchalantly. "Oh?"

He nodded. "First of all... Daphne. Are you feeling better today? I wish you'd tell me what upset you so badly yesterday."

I tried to smile. "Oh, it was nothing. Just Daphne overreacting as usual."

He looked at me a kind of concern that made my heart break. "Are you sure, Daphne? I'm here for you, no matter what. I hope you know that." I nodded but couldn't speak. "Also, Daphne –" He played with his food a bit with his fork.

"Yes?" Was that hope in my voice?

"I've been thinking about something you said yesterday... when you asked me if we're friends."

I mentally slapped myself. "You know I didn't mean that, Doctor Crane. I was just upset."

He nodded and reached over for my hand. "I know. But it made me think that... that before your wedding, I should let you know... how... how much I care about you." He smiled nervously and looked down, holding my hand in his awkwardly. He was adorable. My heart leapt. He looked back up at me. "Daphne, through the years, I've grown to see you as... Well... I've never been one to make friends easily. It's always come hard for me. I tend to be standoffish, and I have trouble expressing my emotions. But Daphne –" He gazed at me. I wanted to cry. "Aside from my brother, you're the best friend I've ever had. And that might sound strange, since we haven't exactly spent much time together recently... But when we used to spend so much time together, after my divorce –"

I smiled. "I feel the same way, Doctor Crane. Thank you. It means so much for you to say so."

He leaned back in his chair, grinning at me. "You could call me Niles, you know. I really wouldn't mind. I don't understand at all how you can hear me tell you you're my closest friend and still call me Doctor Crane."

I laughed a bit. "It sounds a bit awkward, is all... 'NILES, how is your dinner?' 'Good to see you today, NILES.' 'Let's get married, NILES.'"

Oops. Did I just say that? I tried to cover it up by laughing. I think I overdid it a bit. I felt like a loon. He looked shocked.

So I went back to his question, seriously. "Would you like for me to?"

Poor dear. He looked utterly lost. "To... uh... to... uh... Yes. No. What was the question?"

I squeezed his hand. "Would you like for me to call you Niles?"

He looked down. "Very much."

I nodded. "Then Niles it is."

I retracted my hand and started again on my dinner. How to tell him what I really had to tell him now?

* * *

I felt dazed. "Let's get married, Niles." That one was definitely going into my long-term memory, to be repeated over and over...

Dinner was finished, and we were walking arm in arm out of the restaurant. "Niles?" She giggled a little self-consciously at the use of my name.

I smiled back at her. "Daphne?"

"Do you have any other plans on this evening's agenda, or was dinner to be all?"

I fumbled. As a matter of fact, I didn't have any other plans. "Well..."

"Let's go ice skating."

I was confused. "What?"

She rolled her eyes. "Ice skating. You know, where you strap little steel blades to your feet and skate around the ice..." She giggled again, and I slapped her arm lightly.

"I know that, silly. But now?"

She smiled enigmatically. "Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, we're hardly dressed for it."

She shrugged. "And so what?" She elbowed me playfully. "Be adventurous. Try new things. You don't have enough fun."

I stood back and gasped jokingly. "I'll have you know I have PLENTY of fun. Why, just last year... er, two years ago... er, sometime, I took my friend Daphne dancing."

She smiled a bit sadly and took my arm again. "Ooh, we had quite a time that night, didn't we?"

"Yes, Daphne. That we did." I paused. "So you want to go ice skating? Dressed like this?" She nodded at me, her eyes glimmering. "Then ice skating it shall be."

* * *

Frasier sat beside me on my couch. The nature channel played softly behind us. On it were two wolves doing...

Oh, god, I didn't need to see that.

"Can we turn this off already, Frasier?"

He rolled his eyes. "It is apparent you have absolutely no appreciation of our natural world, Roz."

"Yeah, well, I know enough about that side of the natural world without seeing it on television."

"Well, EXCUSE me," he grouched and flipped the channel.

He'd gotten to my apartment about an hour before, walked in, sat down, and flipped on the tv. At first, I tried to just ignore him. I fed Alice, I cleaned up the kitchen, I got ready for bed. He gets like this sometimes, and you know what they say about itches and things like that: "If you ignore it, it'll go away."

Well, wouldn't you know this is the one time they're wrong.

Who are "they," anyway? Probably the same old wives who told all those tales that were just as wrong as this one.

"Okay, look, I give! You come here, you sit on my sofa, you watch my tv, all without a word to me. Is this about Daphne? Or Niles? Or both? Tell me, Frasier."

He sighed. "I'm just getting the feeling that this marriage isn't a good idea."

I grinned. "You didn't seem to think so last weekend in Vegas, Frasier."

He bristled. "Fine. I won't tell you."

I rolled my eyes. "You'll just sit on my couch until your butt burns a hole in the cushion. Hell, no, buster. You're gonna tell me what's on your mind. Which marriage are we talking about here?"

He sighed and crumpled his face up like a little boy. "Both."

Damn.

"Why Daphne's?"

He looked up at me. "Well, you talked to her, Roz. Did she seem like she wanted to move?"

I sighed. "Well, not exactly. She sorta seemed like... like she thought it was her only way out."

He looked over at me. "Out? Out of what?"

"I don't know. Well –" I watched him carefully. "I'm gonna tell you something, and you have to promise not to repeat it, Frasier. I don't think this is exactly something you'll want to repeat anyway."

He nodded for me to go on.

"Well, you remember before Christmas, when your back went out? And Niles took you to that guy who gave you those pills?" He nodded again. "And do you remember when Daphne gave you that massage? Well, Frasier, when you were out of it, you sort of let something slip that you weren't supposed to."

I could see him searching for it in his mind. "I remember telling her something terribly embarrassing about Dad's chair."

I shook my head and grinned. "No, no, this is worse. You sort of let it slip how Niles feels about her."

His eyebrows shot up. "Me?"

"Yes, you loser, you."

He looked horrified. "Oh, my God!"

"So, anyway, she's been really tense about it since then. I think she sort of sees this as a way to run from that."

Frasier shook his head. "Oh, poor Niles. To think that she's leaving just so she won't have to face his feelings for her!" He looked as me suddenly. "What should we do?"

"Nothing, you idiot. Just leave well enough alone. I already told her about Niles and Mel and that I think he's over her, but that doesn't seem to help, and if that doesn't help, nothing will." I pointed at him. "You, Frasier, need to keep your fat nose out of it. The road to hell and all that jazz..."

He sighed and leaned back on the couch in a little "woe is me" pose, like he was some great martyr or something. "All right, Roz. If you really think that's best."

"It is, Frasier. Now turn the tv back on, and for God's sake, keep it off that nature program and let those poor wolves finish the deed in private!"

He flipped the channel.

Good boy. He's so well-trained.

* * *

"Daphne, I should tell you I've never ice-skated before."

She looked at me curiously. "Never? Not even when you were a little boy?"

I thought back. "Well, once. I fell down, came up with a bloody nose, and for five years insisted that my mother leave ice out of my tea."

She took my arm. "Don't you worry. I used to go all the time with my brothers when the back pond would ice over. We'll make a go together, shall we? Now grab the edge of the rink... yes. That'll steady you, you see."

I glanced around. Everyone was staring. We must've looked the sight, I in Armani, she in a fabulous purple number for which I had no idea where she had gotten the money. But I didn't care. "All right." So there I stood, the wall of the rink on my right arm and Daphne on my left.

"Now come away from it a bit. I'll hold you up."

And then we were skating around the rink, and it was wonderful. When she let me go, I skated on my own for a ways without even falling flat on my face. I did have to grab hold of the edge of the rink after a few seconds, but every time I went on my own, I was able to skate longer, until I eventually on my own for a whole ten seconds.

All right, so that last time, I did manage to fall on my face. I'll admit it.

Eventually, I think she felt sorry for me and led me over to a bench off the ice. But I felt wonderful. And free. Almost free enough to tell her right there –

"Daphne –"

She looked up at me sadly. "I have to tell you something, Niles. I've wanted to all evening, but I didn't want to ruin anything."

I didn't know what to say. "What... what..."

She wrapped both her arms around my arm and leaned her head against my shoulder. I extracted my arm from hers and wrapped it around her shoulders instead. Together, we watched the happy families and children skate around the rink, my arm around her, her head on my shoulder. I felt so happy. "I'm moving to Boston, Niles."

I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. My answer probably sounded calm. Neither of us moved a centimeter except perhaps for that slight spasm in my arm that caused me to pull her closer. "Oh, are you?"

"Yes. Donny's gotten an offer... He's going to be a partner in one of the most well-respected law firms in the country."

"Is he, now?" I pulled my arm away from her and leaned down to start unlacing my skates. "You must be very proud."

I fumbled violently with the laces.

Damn these knots! I felt like some poor Samuel Beckett character.

Blaming my boot on the problems of my feet...

I had waited so long, in vain, for – what?

"Here, stop, let me get those." She knelt down in front of me and undid the laces easily, pulling the skates off my feet. I couldn't look at her. If I did, I thought I might start crying. So instead I crossed my arms and turned my head away from her, leaving her to wrangle with my skates. She'd gotten the first one off and had her hands poised to work with the second when she stopped. "Are you angry with me?"

I glanced down at her. Her hands were resting on the top of my feet and she was looking up at me pleadingly. I reached my hand down, took hers, and pulled her back up beside me. "No, Daphne. Of course I'm not angry... It's just that... that..."

She looked at me in the same way she had on the balcony at Christmas. "Yes?"

"Well, it's just that..."

"Yes?"

And I couldn't say it. I couldn't ruin this for her. I wouldn't let her leave feeling guilty for letting me down. And she would feel guilty. She'd feel as though it was somehow her fault, something she should have tried to prevent. "It's just that we'll all miss you so much. Will you visit? Write often?"

She bowed her head, and her shoulders sagged a bit. "Yes. Of course."

But I had to tell her. "We all love you so much. I love you, Daphne."

She nodded sadly. "I love you, too, Niles." If she only meant it in the way I did. "I'll miss you all so much."

I sighed and bent down to unlace my other skate as she did the same. "When do you leave?"

"Right after the honeymoon."

Good God. So soon. I suppose this can't help but be good for me, though... To be separated from her. "So I guess this is our last night together. Just the two of us, I mean." I stood up and held my arm out for her. She accepted it.

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"It's getting late." We exchanged our skates for our shoes.

"Yes, 't 's."

"I should take you home."

She nodded. "Will you be at the rehearsal tomorrow?"

I tried to smile. "Yes. With Mel."

Daphne shuddered slightly. I took off my jacket and handed it to her. "Thank you."

The walk to my Mercedes was made in silence. I opened her door for her, and she climbed in. I made my way to my side of the car, feeling as if every step might be my last.

It's a wonder I hadn't had a panic attack. On the whole, I thought that I'd handled myself quite well. Perhaps this spells progress. Or perhaps it means, more importantly, that I CAN make progress.

I got into the car and cranked the ignition. "So, Daphne, when is your family coming into town?"

She smiled vaguely. "Tomorrow."

"You must be excited to see them. Not that Simon hasn't been a riot, I mean."

"Yes, I am. I can't wait to see Stephen, especially."

"He's the one you're closest to, correct?" I glanced at her. She was looking out her window into the dark. She nodded.

"Yes, Stephen and Billy. Billy's the one who convinced me to come to America, and Stephen... Stephen's the one I always confided in. I could use a long discussion with him right about now."

I sighed. "Something's still wrong, Daphne. Is it the move? Are you unsure about it?"

She shook her head. "No. What I'm confused about is the reason I'm so sure I have to move." She looked up at me. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

My grip on the steering wheel tightened, but I felt strangely relaxed otherwise. "Yes, Daphne. You can ask me anything."

"What does it feel like... to be in love? I don't think I've ever felt it before, until now, and I need to make sure of what I'm feeling..."

I cringed. I didn't want to hear how much she loves Donny, how he's the first man she's loved. "Well, Daphne, I imagine it's different for every person who feels it."

She looked down. "Niles... were you ever in love? Truly?"

I took a deep breath. "I've been in love twice, although in very different ways."

"Did they love you?"

I swallowed. "I think they both loved me as much as they could."

"What did it feel like?"

"Which one?"

She paused. "What was the difference?"

How to state this? "One was a comfortable love. The other was a passionate one."

"The second one."

I closed my eyes.

Then I realized that I was driving. Good job, Niles.

"It felt... It's when you know you could never be happier than when you're with her. It's when she can make your darkest, most terrible day wonderful just by smiling at you. Of course, she also has the power to make a wonderful day terrible, because she can bring you more pain than anyone in the world. But she's amazing. Being in the same room with her makes you melt. You would rather die than see her unhappy..." I paused and realized what I said. "I'm sorry, Daphne. I got a little carried away there."

I pulled up in front of Frasier's building and parked. She glanced over at me. "No, it's all right." She paused and looked straight into my eyes. "Niles, are you still in love?"

That's when it hit me.

Oh, my God. She knows. She knows. She knows. She knows. My mouth felt dry. This couldn't be happening. "Yes. I think I always will be."

She glanced down at her hands. "Niles, I –"

My breath caught. "Yes?"

"I..." She looked like she was about to cry. I still couldn't breathe.

"Yes?"

"I..." She fumbled with the door handle. "I've got to go. You don't have to walk me up. It's been lovely. Wonderful. You're wonderful."

And then, miracle of miracles, she leaned over to me and kissed me. Her lips just barely touched mine, and she was still for a second. I could feel her breath in my mouth. And then, she pulled back, and I was left to wonder if we had actually touched at all. It was a chaste kiss, a kiss goodbye. It made me want to cry.

She leaned back toward her door, opened it, and stepped out. Then, she leaned back in, took my hand, and gave me a slow smile. Her eyes were glistening with tears. "I'll miss you more than anyone, Niles."

I looked at her for a few moments. "I'll miss you, too, Daphne. I love you."

She smiled and squeezed my hand. "I know. Goodnight."

And with that, she ran toward Frasier's building.

I didn't see Daphne again until just before she moved.

I didn't go to the rehearsal. I didn't even go to my best friend's wedding, although I did entertain several fantasies about dressing up in a red bowtie and stopping the ceremony.

You're probably wondering about Mel, given she was supposed to be my date. On a quiet trip to her office the day after my night with Daphne, I broke things off between us. Frasier was right. I couldn't do that to either of us.

I know it was immature of me to miss the wedding, but I... I couldn't. Frasier and Dad understood. And with Daphne's new knowledge, I'm sure she did, too.

I think back to that night sometimes, though, about the way she kissed me. It was a declaration of love. Not the kind of love I felt, I was sure, but love just the same. And that was enough.

* * *

The ceremony went off without a hitch. I even caught the bouquet! Course, she tossed it right to me.

I won't describe the whole ceremony or anything, because, and this might sound bad, weddings are all the same.

It's enough to say this: Daph looked gorgeous, as she always does. Her brothers were all pains in the ass, except for two really cute ones: Stephen and Billy. Of course, then I remembered that Stephen's the one that's married and Billy's the one that used to peek at Nigel in the shower.

So, in other words, no new romances here.

Daphne's dad couldn't make it. I get the feeling they've drifted a lot over the years. Martin walked her down the aisle without his cane and did a damn good job of it.

Frasier cried, although he kept trying to convince me he had an eyelash in his eye or something. Whenever someone would try to comfort him or anything, he's say, "Damn contact! Does anyone have any saline?" You know how melodramatic he can be. He doesn't even wear contacts. Whatever.

Daph... I don't know. She looked really happy.

Oh, yeah. And Niles wasn't there.

What a wussie.

Anyway, we all said bye to Daph and Donny, and none of us saw any of them again for a week.

Come to think of it, I don't think any of us saw Niles for a good week, either. He was probably off in some love cabin with Mel. I shudder at the thought...

But a week later, they were back from their Alaskan honeymoon. I spent the week at Frasier's helping Daph pack. We'd spend the days packing, and then at night she'd go to Donny's and help him pack more and I'd go home to little Alice. Most of our packing time was spent reliving some old memories of our times together. "Oh, man, Daph, do you remember this picture? From the night you dragged us to that costume party?" Or, "Hey, Daph, that road trip we took together!" Or, "Roz, do you remember that time you dragged me to that male strip club for my thirty-seventh?" "Oh, please, Daph, you know you liked it." Yeah, Daph and I've had some times.

Our last day of packing was the most memorable. We were doing some last-minute boxing in Daph's room. I was sorting through her closet when I came across a stack of oil paintings. "Daph, what're these?"

She glanced over. "Oh, some things I did years ago that I've never known what to do with."

I looked through them. They were good, really good. I looked at one. In it, you could see the silhouette of a man in front of a body of water. His head was bowed down, and he looked worn. "Who's this one of?"

She came over and sat beside me, hugging her knees to her chest. "That's my dad on the docks where he works just after sunset."

"And this one?"

"Grammy Moon telling us stories before bedtime. She always lit the candle like that, because most of her stories were intended to scare us to death so we wouldn't make pests of ourselves during the night. Of course, that only made all my brothers crowd into my room until I could convince them that grandad wasn't really going to come after them in their sleep."

Uh... whatever. "What about this?"

"The countryside, a little way's outside of Manchester."

"This?"

She smiled. "That's from a trip Stephen and I took down to what's called the Ridgeway. It's an old, chalk road in southern England that's been there for thousands and thousands of years. The countryside along that road is some of the most beautiful in the world, if you ask me. Although Stevie and I took little notice while we were trying to cover each other in chalk, let me tell you."

I glanced at the next one. "Stephen!" He looked incredible and dashing.

She giggled. "Yes, he finally agreed to pose for me."

I made my way through a couple more in the large stack. Whoa. Scantilly-clad Daphne. A big painting, at least two feet by three feet. She had her back turned to the artist and had a sheet wrapped around her, but it wasn't covering her shoulders or any of her back. She was looking over her shoulder, toward the artist. Her gaze was... was... what's the word... piercing, I guess. Her hair was blowing in the wind. "Daph! A self-portrait!" I said jokingly.

She grinned self-consciously. "Ooh, don't ask about that one. That was during a phase. I wanted more than anything to be a romantic, tragic heroine, like Catherine Linton or Anna Karenina or Sonia Ivanovna [may I just say this – who?], and I decided the best and only way to make myself that was to paint myself that way."

I was still looking at it. It looked just like her. Well, just like her but younger. She was probably around twenty-five in the painting. "It's really gorgeous, Daph. But how on earth did you do it?"

She grinned. "Strategically placed mirrors." We giggled.

There were several more paintings and quite a few sketch-books in her enormous collection.

She looked up at me. "Roz, feel free to take any of those you'd like. Donny says it'd be bloody hard to ship them and that I should probably try to give them away."

I wrinkled my nose. "He told you to give them away? I mean, Daph, I would love a few of them, but..." I shook my head. I refused to say anything to mess with what she had with Donny. Frasier and I made a deal.

She smiled. "Which ones would you like?"

I grinned evilly. "Ooh, the one of Stephen is definitely coming with me, if you're willing to part with it."

"Ooh, take them all if you want. I don't need them."

"Um... this one of... what'd you call it... the Ridgeway is amazing, too." I was picking out a few more to cover the walls in my much-too-bleak apartment when Niles walked in.

"Knock knock," he said, smiling slightly and holding a small gift-box.

She looked up brightly and stood up to hug him. What?

"I missed you at the ceremony."

He nodded. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. But I –"

She nodded back. "I know."

What was going on between these two?

"I brought you something." He handed her the box.

She smiled. "You shouldn't have." She paused. "Do you want me to open it now?"

He shook his head. "No. Please don't. Wait until I'm gone. I wanted to come by to say..." He trailed off as he noticed me for the first time. Yeah, buddy, I'm here. He started to glare, but then he noticed the stack of paintings I was sitting among. "Daphne, are these the ones you told me about?"

She looked surprised. "You remember that? That must've been years ago."

He knelt by me. "Shouldn't you be packing them up?"

I grimaced. "Donny's making her give them away."

He looked up sharply. "He what?"

She shook her head. "No, it's not like that. It's just that they'd be bloody hard to transport, and it would be much easier not to have to. Besides, I really don't have any reason to keep them. They just sit in the closet and collect dust."

I grinned. "So I get first pick."

She smiled. "If you hadn't come across them, I probably would have just let them sit there until Doctor Crane noticed them, oh, say, next year."

Niles looked at the ones I had picked. He rolled his eyes when he came across Stephen. "Oh, Roz, you would take home Daphne's attached older brother, wouldn't you?" I hit him and Daphne laughed. "Daphne, may I have one?"

She smiled. "Of course. If you really like them. Pick anything you want, Niles."

WHAT? "What?"

She looked at me strangely. "What?

I stood up and walked over to her, grabbing her arm and walking with her to the other side of the room. Niles watched us strangely to begin with but then went back to looking through her paintings. "You just called him Niles!" I whispered to her. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're the one who always says I make things too bloody confusing."

I watched her. "Are you sure you're telling me everything?"

She smiled. "Yes. Now help me with these boxes."

We managed to get all of her boxes into the living room, only needing to be marked before they were ready to go down to the post office to ship. Frasier glanced at it all from where he sat on the sofa reading his newspaper. "Is that all of it?" It really wasn't much, to think that she's been living here seven years. A big wardrobe box for her clothes, another for more hanging clothes, and a few boxes of her possessions – mostly keepsakes, photos, things like that. She wasn't taking her furniture with her to Boston. She told Frasier he could do anything he wanted with it. I had a feeling he would leave it the way it was for a while. As much as he liked his study, he loved Daphne, and her being gone was hard enough on him without her things being gone too.

She smiled. "That's the last of it."

I nudged her. "Except the rest of the paintings."

Frasier raised an eyebrow. "Paintings?"

Just then, Niles walked out with three large paintings in tow. Poor guy could barely figure out how to carry them.

I don't think either of us had to ask which ones he'd chosen, and he didn't show them. One of them was the self-portrait. It would remind him of her, and he needed that.

I sort of envy him, knowing so absolutely what he wants. Of course, then again, he didn't get it.

I wondered how Mel would react to his chosen paintings...

"I've picked," he said, pulling his loot toward the door.

Daph smiled and walked over to him. "This is the last time I'll see you until I come back, isn't it?" I don't know why she said that. I guess she knew, but she wasn't actually leaving town for a couple days. Maybe he could only handle seeing her this last time. I don't know. But they were both acting weird.

Frasier cleared his throat. "So, Daphne, when are you coming back?"

She smiled sadly from the doorway, where she was helping Niles with the paintings. "I'm not really very sure. I'm sure we'll be busy these first few months, at least until the end of summer. Sometime in fall, maybe. Or Christmas."

Damn. That's a lot of time. "You'd better call me, girl."

Daph grinned. "Of course I will, Roz." She looked up at Niles. "I guess this is goodbye."

He nodded. "Goodbye, Daphne."

That's when everything started getting REALLY weird. Daphne went back to her room and stayed there a few minutes. But by the time Niles had gotten the paintings out into the hallway and closed the door behind him, she was out again, running toward the door.

Just as she got to the door, Frasier stopped her. "Daphne? Are you all right?"

She looked around a little nervously and then said, "Well, I was just thinking how big those paintings are. Maybe your brother needs help with them."

Frasier stood hastily. "I'll help him."

She shook her head. "No, no, no. I've got this. Doctor Crane, you could be a dear and get these packages labeled and addressed." She smiled sweetly, and he gave in. Ha ha. He's such a pushover sometimes.

And then, she was out the door.

As soon as the door closed, I rushed over to the door. "They're acting weird, Frasier. She called him Niles."

He looked suspiciously at the door. "He wouldn't do anything stupid. Would he?"

Then, the idea hit me. "Well..." I ran to her bedroom, Frasier in tow. Just as I thought, his present to her was lying in the now unwrapped box on her bed. I lifted it out of the box. It was a beautiful, thick white gold bracelet, embedded alternately with diamonds and blue sapphires. "God. This must have cost him a fortune."

Frasier snatched it from me. "Look! There's an inscription!"

I glared. "And? What is it?"

"'To D, From N, With All My Love.'" He looked at the box. "Roz! A note!"

I grabbed that one before he had a chance to get his grubby mitts on it. "Ahem. 'Daphne, I'm so sorry I missed the ceremony. I suppose you can understand why I had to...'" I drifted off. I couldn't read this out loud. Not to Frasier. I felt guilty enough reading it myself. So I made up a couple more lines. "I saw this bracelet and thought of you. Consider it my wedding present. Niles."

Frasier glanced up at me. "That's it?"

I nodded. "Yup. Looks like he didn't do anything stupid after all." He tried to grab at the note, but I kept it away from him. "Stop, Frasier! We need to get this stuff back the way we found it."

So we did. It looked like we'd never touched it. But before we left, I read his note one more time.

"Daphne, I'm so sorry I missed the ceremony. I suppose you can understand why I had to. I'm sure you were beautiful, though, as you always are, and I'm sorry especially that I missed that. Consider this a late wedding present, from me to you. The word 'diamond' comes from the Greek 'amaras,' which means 'unconquerable.' And sapphire, your birthstone. You know, it's known as the stone of destiny in the Orient. Together, I suppose it becomes an... and unconquerable destiny. And that's what I want for you. With love, Niles."

I raised an eyebrow and walked out to the living room to find Frasier. For once in my life, there was something I wasn't going to tell him.

I wondered if she really knew how much she was missing.

* * *

I caught up with him before the doors of the elevator closed. "Hallo, again," I said as he looked at me curiously. "I thought you might need some help with these..." He had just nodded and waited for me to get in.

Now, I glanced at him for the first time as we rode down on the elevator with my paintings. I hadn't looked to see which three he'd picked, yet. I didn't know what to say, after opening his gift... reading his note...

I took a deep breath. "So which ones did you choose?"

He looked a bit self-conscious. "I'm sure you can imagine."

I smiled. "Did you take... me?"

He glanced over at me with a half-smile. "It was exquisite, Daphne. They all were. I never knew you could do this."

"Which others?"

He displayed his other two selections for me. Dad and Grammy Moon.

"Why those?"

He looked down at his feet. "Oh, I don't know."

I grinned. "Yes, you do. Tell me."

He swallowed. "All right. I picked the ones that reminded me the most of you. Of course, your self-portrait. The other two remind me of your stories and who you are and where you came from. I'm going to miss all that, Daphne."

I smiled at him and looked down, speaking softly. "Thank you. It means a lot to me that... that that means something to you." Oh, bloody hell. Now I'm just fumbling. My smile became self-conscious.

"Why did you start, Daphne?"

I looked up. "It was Grammy Moon's idea. I kept a lot of thoughts and feelings bottled up when I was a girl, and she convinced me to express them."

He looked down, and when he looked back up, he seemed very serious. "Daphne, will you keep in touch? I mean, not, 'Will you say you're going to keep in touch?' I mean, will you, really? More than just an occasional Christmas card?"

I looked at him. Honestly, I didn't know. As much as I loved them, and him especially, I almost felt as though it would be emotionally easier for me simply to cut all ties. It would be so hard to be close to Niles now, after these past few weeks... and after that note. I have it in writing, now. I have it engraved in gold.

"I'll try, yes."

He nodded as the elevator opened, and together, we took the paintings out to his car. We managed to squeeze them into the trunk and finally closed it, grinning and laughing at the effort it took. He made his way to the driver's side, and I followed him.

"Thank you for those, Daphne."

I smiled. "Thank you for wanting them. And thank you for your present."

He looked up at me sharply. "You opened it already?"

I nodded. "It's the most wonderful gift I've ever received. It means so much."

He watched me for a few moments. "I'll miss you."

I nodded. "I know. I'll miss you, too."

He leaned over and hugged me, then, squeezing tightly, and we clung to each other like that for several minutes. Then, he leaned back, and he kissed me.

Nothing earth-shattering. Just an affirmation of our friendship, just like mine the week before. Perhaps slightly longer than was appropriate, but utterly innocent. I smiled into his lips.

He leaned back and watched me for a bit. "I –" He stopped. He couldn't say it. Not anymore. It was too late.

I nodded. "I know. Me too."

He smiled a beautiful smile as he sunk into the seat of his car. "Goodbye, Daphne."

"Goodbye, Niles."

It sounded so final. And I knew, for better or for worse, things could never, ever be the same between us.

He drove away, watching me as he left. I stayed in the parking garage, thinking, for close to half an hour, when Donny drove up.

"Hey, honey!"

I smiled. "Donny!"

"What're you doing out here?"

For the first time, I realized that the weather was turning bad. "Oh. You remember those paintings I told you about? I've been trying to find good homes for them. I just helped Ni– Doctor Crane bring a few down to his car."

Donny nodded. "Oh, yeah? See, honey, I told you you'd be able to get rid of 'em."

Get rid of them?

"Yes, Roz and Doctor Crane were quite happy to take a few apiece."

He took my arm and walked with me inside and to the elevator. "Well, I thought I'd stop by to help you with the boxes, since there's not much left to do at home."

"At home." You know, there's another reason why I was glad we were going somewhere new. I'd spent the past few nights at Donny's, but I don't think it could ever have been "home." It was HIS home, not mine, just like the Towers was Doctor Crane's home, not mine, and the house I grew up in was my dad's home, my mum's home, even my brothers' home, but not mine. I've always been the outsider looking in. But, suddenly, I felt as if for the first time in my life I was going somewhere that was my own, MY home.

It felt good.

* * *

I drove home in a daze, thinking about her.

About kissing her.

About her smell. Cherry bark and almonds. And beneath that, a mix of the English countryside and heather and shampoos and scents and bourbon...

About her saying that...

She did, didn't she? I didn't imagine that... that, "I know. Me, too." Even after she'd read that note...

I sighed.

I finally arrived at Montana and managed to get the paintings up to my apartment without either harm to them or to myself.

They really were exquisite.

The self-portrait reminded me of a classical scene, a Greek tragedy, painted by some Pre-Raphaelite master, a bit reminiscent of Rossetti's 'Proserpine.' It was dark and mysterious. The brush strokes were bolder and freer than in something of that period, though, almost... impressionistic in nature.

Her eyes... or the eyes of the classical, tragic Daphne, bored into the soul.

It was the kind of painting that should have been entitled, "Daphne Repentant," or "Daphne Resolved," or "Daphne Undone," or "Rediscovering Daphne," about a woman, a martyr, who had given her life to the quest.

"Rediscovering Daphne?" I rather liked that. Perhaps that's what I'd tell people who dropped by the apartment and saw it. "What's it titled?" they'd ask. "Rediscovering Daphne," I'd reply. "Who painted it? It's extraordinary," they'd comment momentarily. "Why don't you take a guess," I'd suggest. "Millais? Turner?" "Actually, it's by a friend." "Are you joking?" "Not at all." "Your friend has a gift." "Yes. I know."

I lifted the painting and moved it here and there, trying to decide where to hang it. I finally chose a subtle spot on the wall at the top of the stairs. All I had to do now was to choose a frame. Something dark and exotic. Daphne.

The others, I hung in my study. They matched the decor splendidly, with their dark, earthy tones.

I suppose that's really all she is to me, now. A tragic painting.

I don't really think she'll keep in touch. I think we'd both be better off if she didn't.

But do you want to know the scariest part of it all?

I think Frasier's right. I don't think I can even think of marrying until I find someone I can love that much.

Oh, good Lord. But maybe he's not right. He's not right so often, you know.

Mel wasn't right, because this... this dilemma with Daphne came in the middle of my relationship with her, and that threw a strange light on it.

But maybe I could marry again simply for companionship. I could marry someone simply to have someone to grow old with. Someone other than... my brother.

I still say he's "that other one," you know.

After all, who will he have? I think Frasier lost all his marrying instincts years ago. He proposed to three women in the span of five years and was only dumped before the marriage by one of them. Maybe he's had his fill. I firmly believe he'll be alone for the rest of his life. But then again, so will Roz, as she's in no hurry to marry and would rather work her way through man after man after man. I can see it now, Frasier and Roz in a home together, grey hair and no teeth, comparing how many of the nurses have found them attractive.

Unless, of course, Lilith comes back, and they remarry. After all, she seems no better at finding a permanent mate than Frasier is. And I'm not just saying that because Freddie's dastardly little plot implanted the idea. Although our strange little menage a toi was quite awkward, I do feel as though I understand her better now than I ever did before. She's a good woman, as much as I hate to admit it. But knowing both of them as I do, I can see why they had to go their separate ways. They're too similar, I think. And you know what they say: opposites attract.

Case and point, Kit. Though that was just a phase I went through, and, besides, she was nuts.

If I do remain alone, it won't be like that. I'd bury myself in my work and books, and I'd probably still be trying to publish from my deathbed.

How bad could that be? To simply throw my passions into my work? Let my passion for her enable me to produce more proficient, more original work than I ever have before?

I changed into my dressing gown, walked downstairs, pausing to gaze at her painting, which was lying on the floor beneath where I planned to hang it, and chose a book from my shelves. I walked over to my fainting couch, sat down, looked to see what I had picked (it was a much-abused copy of Man and His Symbols by Jung), and began to read.

* * *

We stood in the middle of the airport terminal. It smelt like fast food and luggage and perfume and plastic.

I kissed her and then leaned back to look at her. "God, how you've changed in seven years, Daphne."

She giggled. "You're no spring chicken, yourself, Doctor Crane."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, go on. If you're simply going to insult my years, then you can just get on that plane now."

She looked at me slyly. "Oh, give me another hug, you dear man. I'll miss you, despite everything, you know."

I held on tight. I felt like my little sister was leaving home for the first time. Roz will be the first to tell you that I'm protective of Daphne. After all, she's been caught downwind of my fierce sentiments several times, including one notable time when she wanted to set Daphne up with one of her old boyfriends. Of course, that was before she really knew Daphne. I think she actually held that grudge up until they became friends.

Besides, look who Daphne's married to now...

I don't know if Daphne has ever realized how much I do care for her. Would she be surprised that I feel as thought she's my own blood? I squeezed her one last time. "I love you, Daphne. We all do."

She smiled. "And I love you."

Donny grinned at me. "C'mon, Doctor Crane, you'll see her again. We'll visit. Don't worry."

Of course, I didn't really give a damn if he visited or not. As happy as I am that he gave my brother his life back, I'm still angry that he snatched it away again in his next breath. I tried to laugh as I let her go to shake his hand. "Oh, I know. Daphne couldn't stay away from the Cranes for too long. We're family."

She smiled self-consciously and then walked over to Dad. "Oh, c'mere, you lazy old sod, and give Daphne a hug goodbye."

He rolled his eyes, but I could tell he was close to tears. And Dad doesn't cry often, let me tell you. "Aw, Jeez, Daph, let's not make a big show of this. You've got a plane to catch."

She smiled as she wrapped her arms around him. "Oh, I've got time to give the man I consider a second father a hug goodbye, I do. I'll miss you, you old bear."

He squeezed her into an embrace. "I'll miss you, too, Daph. You promise you'll call as soon as you get there so we'll know you made it fine?"

She leaned back. "I promise. And you promise me you'll do your exercises as soon as you get home."

He wrinkled his nose. "Aw, Daph, c'mon!"

Roz grinned. "You heard her, Martin. I'll make sure you do 'em." She smiled at Daphne. "Oh, c'mere, girl! I'm gonna miss you! I'm still gonna call you with all the gossip."

Daphne hugged her. "You'd better."

Daphne and Roz are extremely close. They weren't always, mind you. They spent time together, but only if neither of them had anything else to do. But during the past year or so, they've become like sisters. I think it's because of the wedding. Roz has been living through Daphne almost vicariously, and Daphne's been living the single life through Roz. I think they both want a bit more of what the other has, but don't let anyone hear me say that.

"Well, guys," interrupted Donny. "That's final boarding call. We'll talk to you all tonight, I'm sure." He kissed Roz on the cheek, shook hands with Dad, and they were off.

We watched the plane until it took off. I don't usually do that. Usually, I bid my companions adieu, watch them board the plane, and then leave. But when Niles and I were small and our mother used to have to leave for psychiatric conventions, Niles would demand to stay right next to the window until her plane was so high he couldn't see it anymore.

Now, I'm reminded of those times, bidding Mom goodbye. I always knew, logically, that she'd be back in four or five days, but Niles never seemed to realize that. He'd cling to her before she left like she was never returning, and he'd press his little nose against the glass desperately until the end. And then he'd say that Mom was like a bird, free in the air, and he'd spend the rest of the day with his little arms spread out, pretending to fly around the living room. Well, that or hiding under the piano. She'd call, of course, later that night, and he'd be the first to talk to her, before Dad, even. He'd asked her if she liked being a bird. I don't know what she told him, but he'd get a huge grin on his face and hum himself happily to sleep that night from across the room in our house on Wallace Lane.

I watched Daphne's plane, my nose against the glass, for the half hour it was in Seattle before finally taking off into the friendly skies. I felt as though as big a piece of me were leaving as I had when my own mother left. The only difference was that Daphne wasn't coming back.

And that Niles wasn't here to say goodbye and whisper how she's a bird, how she's free.

Which is probably best, because she's anything but that, now.

I have always thought that it's a much more difficult experience to be left than to leave. When you're the one leaving, it's a conscious decision. You're going out to face new possibilities and new adventures. Everything is new, everything is exciting. When you're the one who's left, everything is the same. Everything but the hole that the person who is gone left in your life. Life without Daphne will be hard.

I looked down at Roz, who was at the glass window beside me. She was crying just slightly, although she'd deny it.

She looked up to me, smiled, and wrapped her arms around my waist just as Daphne's plane was taking off.

It'd be hard, but we'd make it.


	2. Part II: Please Come to Boston

**Rediscovering Daphne: A Chronicle  
****Part II: Please Come to Boston**

I rolled my eyes as I sat on Frasier's couch, his phone pressed against my ear. Frasier was sitting on the coffee table, watching me anxiously. "C'mon, Daph, this is the fourth time you've said you could visit and then changed your mind. It's Christmas, Daph. You've gotta be here."

She sighed. "I know, but Donny has a big case that he's working on, and he doesn't want to leave Boston."

I shook my head. "Daph, he doesn't have to come. It's you we want to see."

"I need to be with him this Christmas. It's our first Christmas together."

Frasier looked at me hopefully. I wrinkled my nose. "Daph, it doesn't have to be ON Christmas. You could come tomorrow and leave right before Christmas. Or you could come after Christmas." I crossed my fingers.

"I just don't think it'll work, Roz."

I made a pouty face. "Well, Daph, when WILL we be able to see you?"

"I'm not sure, Roz. Oh, is Doctor Crane there?"

I sighed and glanced over at Niles, who was standing behind me trying to straighten the wreath above Frasier's mantle. How can you straighten a circle, anyway? "Which one?"

"Frasier."

I took the phone from my ear and handed it to him. "She wants to talk to you."

He nodded and took it, standing and walking back into his room. "Hi, Daphne! It's great to hear your voice. Yes..." His voice drifted off as he closed the door to his room.

I looked over at Niles. "I think it's straight."

He glanced up at it, surprised, as if he'd forgotten what he was doing at all. "Oh, it is, isn't it?"

He walked over to the couch and sat down beside me, his black Armani wrinkling up in the act. I shook my head. "I can't BELIEVE you haven't talked to her since that day when we were looking through her paintings."

He looked away. "It's not as easy as you want to make it out to be."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes it is. It's not easy for you because you're a wussie."

He huffed, and we sat quietly for a little bit. Finally, he looked over at me. "She knew, you know."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, well after that gift and note you wrote her..."

He looked shocked. "She told you about that?"

Well, at least I had the decency to look ashamed. "I... I sort of read it when she wasn't looking."

He sighed and shook his head. "I mean that she knew before that."

What? I gasped. "You KNEW she knew?"

He looked shocked. "YOU knew she knew?"

I shrugged. "Well... yeah. I've known since last Christmas."

He sank down in the couch. "She knew that long?"

I shrugged again. Poor guy. "Well... yeah."

Martin walked in from the direction of Frasier's bedroom, holding the phone to his ear. "Yes, I got Santa workin' again! Gotta hide him from Frasier, though. You wanna hear him? All right..." He walked over to the kitchen table and turned the thing on. It burst out with a lively chorus of "Jingle Bell Rock." I could just hear her laughs from the phone.

You know, the weirdest thing is that she talks to Martin more than any of us. Even me, and I talk to her two or three times a week. But I think she knows that it makes him feel better to talk to her, and she'd do anything to make him feel better, so they talk for a little bit almost every day, usually in the afternoons while Frasier's at work when he used to have her around. It really crushed Martin when she moved so far away. He lost his little girl.

Of course, I'm the only one who's seen her since she moved. I flew out to see her over a weekend in September for her birthday. That was when they were still in the apartment. She showed me all around Boston, and let me tell you, I could die happily at that Filene's place. Anywhere where you can find Versace marked down from $1,300 to $100 is my kind of store. Of course, it was a size two. I'm waiting until I can fit into it... All right, all right. Let's just put it this way: I wasted $1,200 less than I could have.

"Oh, yeah, Daph, he's great," Martin was saying just as Eddie jumped up onto the table wearing his elf hat. "You wanna talk to him?" He actually held the phone up to the little dog. I could hear her saying something, and then Eddie barked a couple times. Well, I'll be damned.

Frasier walked in from his bedroom, clearly excited, paused to straighten the tree slightly (everything has to be perfect in the Crane brothers' land, if you haven't noticed), and walked to stand in front of where I was sitting on the couch.

"I've got an idea, Roz! If Daphne won't come to us, we can go to her for Christmas! Freddie's staying in Boston, anyway, and I'd love to pay him an unexpected visit!"

Niles rolled his eyes and leaned back. "Frasier, that's ridiculous. Did it ever strike you that perhaps the reason she's begging off is because she wants to have a family Christmas, just the two of them?"

Frasier glared at him. "I'll have you know that you don't have to come."

Niles stood up, returning the glare. "I'll have you know that I can't. I have an important seminar to attend."

I wrinkled my nose. "On Christmas? Think up a new excuse, Niles."

"Maybe I know when I'm being intrusive." He walked over and started straightening that damn wreath again.

"Apparently not," Frasier muttered under his breath, and I giggled.

Niles held up his hands defensively. "I know when I'm not wanted. I'm leaving, all right?"

Frasier stood up, a hurt look on his face. "Niles, I was just kidding. Stay. Please. You know that my home is your home." Yes, he does know that, which is why I'm never here when he's not. "And come with us. Christmas isn't Christmas without you."

Niles shook his head. "Frasier, she doesn't even want to talk to me on the phone. She wouldn't want to see me. I'm probably the reason she's not coming back."

Frasier looked confused. "Niles, you never did tell me what happened between you before she left. I know you haven't talked to her in months. You never even told her that you broke off your relationship with Mel." He paused. "She asks about you, sometimes, you know, and then it's up to Dad or Roz or me to tell her what's happening in your life, because you won't call her yourself."

He turned his head. "She doesn't call me."

Frasier shook his head. "You're being a baby. What happened, Niles?"

It was clear he wasn't going to say anything, so I did. "He found out that she knew how he felt."

Frasier looked up at me, horrified. He slowly turned his head toward Niles. "You knew?" He paused. "And... do you... do you know how she found out?"

Niles sighed. "From that guilty expression on your face, I'm going to take a wild guess that it was you." He shook his head. "Frasier, you never have learned when to keep your mouth shut."

"It wasn't my fault, Niles! I was on very powerful medication! And the bottle said take one, but I took two. I didn't know they were that potent! Oh, you should talk, Niles! You're the one who's had your face in a puddle of expensive, exotic fish in front of three Nobel Prize winners!" Frasier always overcompensates when he knows he's wrong.

Niles took a deep breath. "She told me she loved me."

What? He came back and sat on the couch. Frasier sat in front of him, and I was beside him. How funny. The Crane support group. Um, Crane and Doyle support group. Frasier smiled sympathetically. "But not in the way you loved her?"

Niles took a deep breath. "Actually, I had hoped that she meant it in exactly the way I meant it. The problem was... well, she was married. And I wasn't sure." He smiled vaguely and stared at his hands. "She kissed me."

I stood up. "What? Daph didn't tell me that!"

"Didn't tell you what?"

We all turned and looked at Marty, who was still sitting at the breakfast table on the phone. "What?"

"Daph wants to know what you're talking about."

I stalked over to him. "Well, I'll tell her what I'm talking about!"

Niles looked at me frantically and shook his head. "Roz," he whispered. "I'll kill you. I'll murder you in your sleep. I know where you live."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please. As if you'd be caught dead in my part of town." I felt sorta sorry for him, then. I took the phone from Martin. "Daph, you didn't tell me you moved!"

She sounded confused. "Yes, I did, Roz. I told you how the apartment started feeling cramped and that we moved out here to Hingham."

"Yes, but you didn't tell me... whether or not you have spare bedrooms!"

Niles took a deep breath. "We actually have four guest bedrooms, but we gutted one for my studio." She giggled. "I did tell you that, Roz, I told you the whole floor plan! There's something you're not telling me, isn't there? Is this Roz-code-language for 'I'll talk to you about it later'?"

She catches on fast. "Yes, Daphne, we'd love to come stay with you over Christmas!"

She chuckled again. "Is that the price I'm going to have to pay to find out what you really want to tell me?"

I grinned. "You betcha, kiddo."

"And you'll call me as soon as you get home with this juicy morsel?"

"Of course, Daph. We're really excited. Can't wait to see you either. Wanna talk to Martin again?"

"No, Roz, tell him goodbye, and you bloody go home and call me!"

"Well, tell us when to get our tickets for."

"Are you really serious?"

"Yes, I told you!"

"But... what about Alice?"

"You know Mrs. Gardner across the hall from me would die for a chance to spend a week with Alice. It won't be a problem."

"I'll have to check with Donny..."

She checks with Donny about everything. 'Daphne, call me tomorrow.' 'Let me check with Donny.' Argh. "Make a decision for yourself, girl!"

She sighed. "Well, how soon can you come?"

I looked over at the boys. "How soon can we come?"

Niles shook his head and mouthed, "I'm not going."

I rolled my eyes and looked at Frasier. Who pulled out his day planner. "Well, Roz, it's the twentieth. We can put on 'Best of Frasier Crane' tapes for a few days... Why don't we leave the twenty-second and come back... what... the twenty-sixth?"

"Did you hear that, Daph? Martin, Frasier," I glared at Niles, "Niles, and I can come from the twenty-second to the twenty-sixth."

Her breath caught a bit, but she kept talking. "Yes. Listen, I'll call Donny at work while you're on your way home. By the time you call me back, I'll know."

"All right. Talk to you then."

I hung up. Martin looked mad. "Why'd you do that, Roz? I wanted to say goodbye."

I grinned. "Aw, don't worry Marty. She gave me a message for you. She said, 'And say goodbye to that lazy old sod for me.'" He grinned and walked over to sit in his chair. "So, boys," I began, getting my coat and ignoring Niles, who had buried his head in his hands and was rocking steadily. "I need to get home to Alice. She's probably running circles around poor Mrs. Delaney. Daphne's going to talk to Donny and tell me later if those are good dates for us to come." I glared and Niles' back from the door. "ALL of us, Niles. She's expecting you, too." I turned back to Frasier. "I told you about the fabulous house she and Donny have in... uh, wherever... now, right? It's got about a million rooms or something. Apparently, he's raking it in. So we'll all fit fine. Bye, guys!"

I closed the door nonchalantly, ran to the elevator, pressed the button over and over until the elevator came, and jumped in.

Daph kissed and didn't tell? The little rat! Well, she'd tell now, if I had anything to say about it.

* * *

As soon as the door closed, Frasier glared at me. "She kissed you? And you didn't tell me?"

I huffed. "I don't tell you everything."

"Yes, you do, Niles."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Oh, all right, so I do tell you almost everything, but that doesn't mean I had to tell you this!"

"Are you going to tell me now?"

The looked he gave me broke me. "Okay, we kissed. Twice. And I can't be certain, but I think she told me she loved me."

Frasier crossed his arms. "You can't be certain? What is that supposed to mean?"

I lowered my face into my hands again. "I told her that I loved her. And she said, 'I love you, too, Niles.'"

"She could have meant in friendship."

I nodded. "Yes, she could've. But then.. she... well, in a manner she told me that she knew how I felt. Then, she kissed me."

Frasier stopped me. "Wait, wait, wait. Was this a peck on the cheek? Because you know that's not a real kiss, Niles."

I glared at him. "I know what a kiss is, Frasier. It was somewhere between friendship and... more." I paused. "And then I told her I loved her again. She said, 'I know.'"

My brother shook his head. "That does not constitute a declaration of romantic devotion, no matter what planet you're from, Niles."

"Well, there was more to it than that, Frasier," I huffed.

Dad didn't look up from his paper. "Well, she sure acts like she's in love with him."

We both looked up, shocked. Frasier cocked his head at Dad. "Dad... what do you mean?"

He still didn't look up, just shrugged. "Oh, you know, all her little nervous, 'How's... Doctor Crane?'s, and her reaction when I told her you dumped Mel."

I couldn't help it. "Wh– what did she say?"

He shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. She just sounded relieved. Really relieved. She stuttered a lot and then said she had to go."

As usual, Frasier threw water on that spark. "Well, it could've simply been that she knew Mel wasn't right for Niles and that she really did have to go. I won't deny that she wants what's best for him, and we all know how she felt about Mel." He grinned. "Of course, who could blame her?"

I frowned. "As I was saying, there was more to it than that, Frasier."

"All right, Niles," he responded, attempting to sound bored. "Tell us more."

"It was right after that last morning, when I chose which of her paintings I wanted."

Frasier looked up at Dad, changing the subject. "You know, those are really very good. Another layer in the proverbial artichoke that is Daphne." He smiled fondly. "You probably noticed, Dad, that I hung several of them in Daphne's bedroom." He still didn't call it his study. I don't think he could yet. I was reminded then that I wasn't the only one who loved Daphne.

"I know, I know, Frasier."

"You never know what you're going to learn about her next. Whether it's that she was a child television star or a great artist or psychic. Hmmm." He paused. "You know, she accidentally left some sketchbooks here. I know Donny said she had to leave the paintings, but she might appreciate it if we brought her sketchbooks to her."

Dad still didn't look up. How does he do that? Manage to seem totally disinterested yet still interject comments here and there which, if at all possible, make him seem even more disinterested? "Let your brother finish, Frasier."

"Oh, fine! So, Niles, right after you gave her that present proclaiming your eternal devotion..."

"You knew about that?" He nodded boredly. I cleared my throat and went to pour myself a sherry. "As I was saying, she caught up with me in the elevator after she opened said present and walked me down to my car, and then I kissed her."

"You what?"

"Just a kiss goodbye. And I... I was about to say 'I love you' again, but I said 'I' and couldn't finish, because she was married."

Frasier rolled his eyes. "How noble of you."

"And so she stopped me and said, 'I know. Me too.' She knew what I was going to say, and she knew the manner in which I meant it. What else could she have meant?"

Frasier stood and walked into the kitchen. "Whatever helps you sleep at night..."

I ran after him. "You don't think it's at all possible that she had feelings for me?"

He looked up at me from the refrigerator, then closed it, blue water bottle in hand. "Does it matter whether she did or not, Niles? She's married."

I looked down. "It matters to me, yes."

He sighed. "Well, then perhaps she did, Niles. Perhaps she loved you."

I glared at him and stormed out of the kitchen. "Don't patronize me, Frasier."

He ran after me. "I'm not, Niles, but I think it's time you get her off your mind. You need to find someone to help you do that. Maybe seeing her in Boston will help."

I shook my head, put my sherry glass down on the breakfast table, and retrieved my coat. "Well, you always know best, brother."

With that, I walked out of the apartment, slamming the door behind me.

Dad never looked up from his paper.

* * *

When I visited Daph in Boston for her birthday, she was really happy.

Of course, most of that was her excitement to see me.

She seemed happy with life in general, too, but what I was afraid of was that the life she had with Donny, even if it was making her happy then, which I sort of doubted, wouldn't make her happy much longer.

She seemed really stifled. I mean, she used to meet people, go out to bars, have some fun... she used to be pretty wild, sometimes, even, but... I think she sort of felt that, now that she was married, she didn't really have the right to do those things anymore.

For some people, that would be fine, but our Daph's entirely her own, a free spirit.

She's told me about Donny's lawyer pals, about how high society they were, and about how Donny wanted her to be able to get along socially with their wives, who were apparently all upper-class snobs.

Well, if there's one thing Daph isn't, it's a snob, and if there's one thing Daph is, it's blunt. I didn't see how long that whole situation was going to last. Either she was going to change into what he needed her to be, or she was going to bust out and fly away.

I hope to God she's not changing.

I called her as soon as I got home.

"Hello?"

I grinned. "Hi, Daph."

"All right, Roz, c'mon. What've you got?"

I was thinking about dragging it out, but I couldn't hold it in anymore. "Why didn't you tell me you kissed Niles?"

She shrieked. I mean, honest to God shrieked. "Eeeek!" I laughed. "It's not funny! Did he tell you that? Hold on."

"What're you doing, Daph?"

"Going upstairs to my studio."

Ah. See, that's the one room Donny doesn't go into. She doesn't bother him in his study, and he would never bother her in her studio.

Did I mention that Daph's started painting again? Releasing frustration or something like that. She apparently does a lot of portraits now. Gets commissioned, even, by people at various organizations she's joined around the neighborhood. She's making some good money from them, too, now that she's getting a little better known. She's even doing one for me. Of course, she's doing it for free, good friend that she is...

"You there yet?"

"Yep. What did he tell you?"

I could imagine her, curled up on that comfy couch she tells me about, that dog of hers snuggled in beside her. When she and Donny get in an argument, all she has to do is go to her studio, make herself some tea, and curl up on that couch with the pooch until one of them or both of them cools down.

"Pinky swear you won't tell him I told you?"

She sighed. "We never talk. How could I tell him?"

"He's coming with us for Christmas."

"I won't tell him. I promise."

"All right. Just so long as you know he's threatened my life on this, so if you tell I'm dead." I laughed and walked into my kitchen to fix some cocoa and warm some milk for Alice. "Well, he was putting up a fit about visiting you. Saying how you wouldn't want him there. So Frasier says, 'What happened between you guys, anyhow?'"

She stopped me, laughing a bit. "Are you sure he said it that way?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, it was probably more like, 'Dearest brother, thou never didst tell us exactly what transpired between yourself and Daphne on the evening of your last outing with her.'" She giggled. "Well, Niles wouldn't say anything. But he'd told me a few minutes earlier that he'd realized that you knew how he felt. So I told Frasier that, Frasier started defending his little slip of the tongue, and Niles told us that you kissed him and told him you loved him. And that that's why he couldn't see you."

She gasped. "He said that?"

"You bet."

She was quiet for a few seconds. "Oh. Well... well, no wonder he feels uncomfortable seeing me, then."

I grinned. "Well, you did tell him you loved him. Did you mean it?"

"Well... well... of course I did, as a friend."

Oops. "Gee, Daph, I think he took it the wrong way, then."

She sounded sorta faint. "Oh." She paused for a few seconds. "Donny says it's fine if you all come. On the night of the twenty-second, we're hosting a dinner party here, but I'd love for you all to be here. You know how I hate socializing with all those drama queens."

I grinned. "Yeah, Daph, I know. We'll get our tickets tomorrow. What's the dress at this dinner party?"

"Very formal, but not black tie. Pack that gorgeous crimson number of yours."

"Don't count on getting Marty too dressed up, though."

She laughed. All of a sudden, I heard a click. "Hold on, Daph, I've got a call." I switched over to the other line. "Hello?"

"Roz. It's Frasier."

"Like I couldn't figure that out. What do you want?"

"Nice way to greet a friend, Roz. You could learn a thing or two about etiquette," he said brusquely.

I couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, are you going to give me an 'etiquette lesson'?"

He huffed. "Oh, do be quiet, Roz."

Ouch. "What's wrong with you?"

He sighed. "Niles and I just had a fight."

Oh. Fighting with his brother always makes him out of sorts. I'll forgive him. This time.

"About?"

"About Daphne. I told him he needs to work on getting over her. I told him Boston would help. You know how touchy he is about that particular subject."

"He'll come around. Daph's on the phone now. She says those dates are fine, but we'll have to go to a dinner party she's hosting for Donny's snooty friends the first night, so pack something nice. She's excited we're gonna be there, though, because she doesn't like any of the wives who come to those things."

"A soiree! How fabulous. All right. Should I book tickets?"

"Yeah. Four, I guess. Don't let Niles have his way."

"I won't, Roz. How's dinner tonight on me sound?"

"Good. When're you picking me up?"

"An hour?"

I checked the clock. "Great. See you then."

I clicked back to the first line. "Daph?"

"Roz. Yes. I've got to go, all right? Donny's come home."

"Well, tell him I said hi."

"Will do."

I hung up and got ready for dinner out.

* * *

He can't see me because I told him I loved him?

Oh, good Lord, he was over me. I suppose I didn't blame him. I'd been married for seven months. He'd had time without me and discovered he really didn't need me. And now he couldn't face me, knowing how I feel. Maybe he didn't even feel the same all those months ago. Maybe he was embarrassed and knew how I felt and didn't want to let me down, knowing that he'd never see me again.

Oh, good Lord. I wanted to cry. I really thought he loved me.

I jogged downstairs two steps at a time, trying to clear my mind, and hung up the phone. Donny was in the kitchen looking through the mail. "Hi, sweetie."

He looked up and smiled. "Hi, baby." He walked over to me, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me lightly.

"How was work?"

"Fine. Busy. Did you talk to Roz again?"

"Yep. She and the boys will definitely be here. I told them to bring clothes appropriate for our dinner party for the McHenleys."

"Whatever." He glanced at the sweatshirt and leggings I was wearing, looking irritated. "Why aren't you ready? I told you we're having dinner with John and his wife tonight."

I was surprised. "What? No, you didn't."

He smiled semi-apologetically. "Oh, it must have slipped my mind. Sorry, honey. How long will it take you to get ready?"

I shook my head. "Not long. I'll be right down."

Dinner at the Number Nine Park on Beacon Hill is always a treat, even if it is quite a drive from our home on Hingham Harbor. (It's quite near, though, that old bar of Doctor Crane's.) The atmosphere is superb, and the food is to die for.

The company, however, is not.

"So, Daphne, you're from England, is that correct?" I glanced up from my food to John's wife, Margaret.

"Yes. Manchester."

She regarded that answer a bit distastefully. "Why did you decide to come to America?" She lifted her napkin daintily and patted her lips.

"Because I had a vision that something was missing in my life, and when I told my brother Billy, a professional ballroom dancer who lives in London with his boyfriend of five years, about it, he told me I should leave. So I got out my childhood globe, spun it around, closed my eyes, and pointed. Of course, I landed in Taiwan. I had to do it several more times before I finally landed somewhere where the native language was English, but after that, I packed my bags, collected up all my money, and moved to San Francisco, where I just happened to have a transvestite uncle who put me up for a few months."

No, I didn't really say that. Donny warned me quite a few months ago to refrain from discussing my past with his friends and clients. And any talk of visions was decidedly taboo.

No. Instead, I smiled and gave the most vague answer I could. "England has such nasty weather, you know."

That got me a slight, polite laugh, and I turned back to my food.

"Well, you must be homesick, dear."

I glanced back up, thinking of an entirely different home. "Yes, I am. But I'm dealing with it."

Donny laughed uncomfortably. "Well, Daph's actually been in America eight years."

I glanced at him. "But you never get used to something like that."

He glared in warning and resumed his conversation with John, or James, or whoever, and I resumed eating.

Donny knew that I was unhappy in Boston. And it's not the city, mind you, which is lovely. It's... it's being away from the people I love and who love me.

I'm just not cut out to be a lawyer's wife. Forced to attend all these dinners and parties and gossip about meaningless drivel.

"Dear, that is a simply marvelous bracelet."

I looked up. "Excuse me?"

"That bracelet. Is this Cartier? Tiffany's? It's simply breathtaking."

I looked down at it. "It was a gift. Thank you, though."

Donny laughed. "A wedding present from a family Daph was really close to back in Seattle. She refuses to take it off." Yes, I do. Partly because of my fear that Donny will see the engraving (he's proven himself prone to jealous fits), and partly because I... can't bring myself to. "Actually, they'll be coming in on Friday. You'll meet them at our party that night."

"Oh, will we, dear?" Margaret asked politely. If she called me "dear" one more time, I was going to shove my fork down her–

"Yes, you will. They're very excited to see our new home."

"Well, so are we, dear, we haven't been out since you moved! Although John says that Donny here's been raving about the location! Right in the harbor, he says?"

"Yes," I said, smiling. "We've a gorgeous view. We're on the west side, so we can see the sun rising over the water wonderfully. And I've got large bay windows in my –"

"In our guest room," Donny cut in. "Large bay windows. It's really wonderful."

I'm not quite sure why Donny doesn't tell his associates that I paint. I don't think he minds the hobby, so much, but he does mind that I'm so passionate about it, and he very much minds that I'm making money.

Although he wouldn't say so.

"I wanted to move to Scituate, but we decided Hingham would be better."

Margaret just raised her eyebrows a bit. "Good choice. I hear those Scituate waves can be quite violent at times." Or, to read the message between the lines: Scituate's a bit common, don't you think?

I didn't mention how much I love to pack up my dog and drive him out to Scituate. We sit on the sea wall and watch those violent waves pounding up against it, willing it to collapse beneath us, again and again and again...

We bid goodbye to the couple after dinner, and Donny and I climbed into his new BMW.

He slammed the door angrily. "I can't believe you did that."

I was surprised. "Did what?"

She shook his head. "Daph, you practically ignored them all night. And you bet they noticed." He paused. "Daph, you know how important this is to me."

He wasn't like this when we lived in Seattle. He didn't care what people thought of him. Bloody hell, he's told me the story about how the first time he met the Cranes, he practically undressed in front of them.

He's changing. So much business and so much money, and he's starting to value different things. I'm getting the feeling I'm not one of them.

* * *

"Niles, stop being a pansy!" I whispered harshly at him as he started hyperventilating. He was on the aisle seat, effectively trapping me against the window. "Good God! Business class is not the end of the world!"

Frasier glanced over from his seat across the aisle, in the middle island of seats. "Oh, give it a rest, will you Niles? First class was booked."

Niles looked at his father for support. Martin didn't look up from his paper. "Read a book or something."

He wiggled about uncomfortably for another quarter of an hour, got up, went to the bathroom, came back, got up again, came back, and asked for coffee.

Oh, dear God. This was going to be a long flight.

On his fifth trip to the back of the plane, I was fed up. I mean, Lord, one man could not have to pee that much. I jumped up and followed him, and, sure enough, he was just pacing the back of the compartment aimlessly.

"Niles," I said, a little too loudly, "You and I are gonna have to have a talk."

He glared at me. "Would you care to lower your voice?"

I glanced toward the front of the plane, spotted an overly perky flight attendant heading our way, and did the only thing I could think of: I dragged Niles into one of the vacant bathrooms with me.

He looked shocked as I closed the door behind me, but he tried to deadpan: "Oh, Roz, I'm flattered, but I'm not really interested in becoming a member."

I glared at him. "What do you think you're doing?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. You're the one who pulled me in here with you." He tugged at his collar. "And it's getting a little stuffy."

"I just want to know why you're being such a pain in the ass! If you don't snap out of it soon, you sure won't before you see her."

He nodded patronizingly. "Fine, Roz, just open the door."

"Fine."

"Fine."

I reached behind me and grabbed for the handle.

And jiggled.

And jiggled again.

"Uh, Houston, I think we have a problem."

"Roz," he whispered harshly, trying to sound fierce. "What's wrong?"

"Um... well... I can't get the door open."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, Roz, don't joke around. 'I can't get the door open.' Like I'd fall for –"

"Well, you try, then!"

We wriggled around from our scrunched positions until he was next to the door.

"Well?"

"Hold on. I'm trying. I need to concentrate."

"Niles! Hurry! Do you know what people will think if we're in here too long?"

"Why do you think I'm working so hard at this?"

I shook my head. "Move. Let me try again."

"Fine."

"Fine."

I shoved past him, which wasn't easy; his damn trenchcoat was huge. I sighed.

"Should I knock to see if someone'll let us out?"

He looked horrified. "No! Then they'll discover we were in here together in the first place!"

I shook my head. "Either I knock, or you sit here and explain to me why you've been moping around for seven months."

He sighed. "Is there a third choice?"

"No. Now spill."

He shook his head. His hair had gone all astray. "It's still stuffy in here." He reached up and loosened his tie.

"Well, if you'd take that damn coat off..."

I got another glare for my effort. "You know why, Roz."

I shook my head. "I know you've had some... some incredible attraction to her for eight years. But Niles, I mean, she left seven months ago. Why can't you just let it die?"

He lowered himself to the only bit of floor available (right beside the toilet, no less – no, before you start thinking he's changed, I should add that he put his handkerchief on the floor first and sat on it) while I hoisted myself up onto the toilet/sink area. He shook his head. "It's not just attraction. I'm in love. Have you ever been in love, Roz?"

His question shocked me, and I watched him carefully. "What? Why?"

"Because I don't think you could ever understand what I'm going through if you've never been truly in love. Have you, Roz?"

I shook my head and replied softly, "No." I've been through more men than I care to count, and I can't claim that I loved any one of them.

"Well... tell me the person you're closest to in the world. Closer than anyone."

"Well... Frasier."

He just nodded, like he'd expected it. "Do you love him?"

I nodded. "Well, sure I love him." I glared at him. "As a FRIEND."

"Well... well, all right. Let's say he's your best friend. You trust him implicitly. Well, how would you feel if... if..." He was having a hard time, I could tell. "No, that doesn't work. Pretend that you're in love with him. That he's the center of the earth to you. That you would happily devote the rest of your life unconditionally to him, not out of some sense of sentimentality but because you know... that it would be right. That his very presence made you happy. But then, let's say, he doesn't realize this, and he rebuffs you again and again and again, never meaning to. He breaks your heart."

Poor guy. "I'd leave. I'd go find that somewhere else."

He shook his head. "Not if you were really in love, you wouldn't. You would come back for it again and again and again."

"But you haven't even spoken to her since she left."

"That's because I'd do anything on earth to make her happy, and I think, at this point, leaving her alone is just about the only thing that could do that." He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. "I haven't spoken to her, but I can't stop thinking about her."

"You've tried?"

"Yes."

"Have you tried hard enough?"

He opened an eye and looked up at me. "What do you mean?"

"Date other women, Niles. Go out. You'll never forget her if you sit around your and Frasier's apartments all the time." I paused. "What does love feel like, Niles?"

He smiled a bit sadly. "You know, Daphne asked me that very same question on our last night together."

I was surprised. "She did?"

He nodded. "She asked me and I told her. And then she looked into my eyes and asked me if I was still in love. And I said yes."

Oh, God. Poor guy. "I'm sorry, Niles."

He shook his head. "Don't be. My fault entirely. I had chance after chance to tell her how I felt."

I nodded, and we were quiet for a very long time, each of us lost in our own thoughts. My thoughts regarded the cute flight attendant who'd poured my coffee. I swear, he winked at me. But there was also a question that kept nagging me: What if Daphne really DID love Niles? Finally, I yawned. "God, what time is it?"

He glanced at his watch. "Nearly eleven in Seattle, so about two or so in Boston."

"Shouldn't we be landing soon?"

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. "Sir? Is everything all right in there?"

Niles' eyes widened. I giggled. "Um, yes, um, I'll just be a second."

I could hardly contain myself. "Admit it, Niles, this is funny."

He rolled his eyes. "It won't be funny when Frasier realizes where we've both been for the past hour."

"It hasn't been THAT long..."

Again, on cue, we heard his voice. He sounded annoyed. "Niles? You're back here somewhere. We're landing, you numbskull."

Ah, damn. It'll be worth it to see his expression. I pushed by Niles to get to the door and said breathily, "Frasier, could you work on the door? We can't seem to get it open..."

I could imagine him, opening and closing his mouth stupidly. "Roz?" he asked in disbelief.

"Frasier," I said, still breathily. "Get a flight attendant to open this up. But don't let her see that both of us are in here."

Niles slapped my ankle, hard, but I could see a glint of a smile on his face. First one in weeks, so it must be worth it.

"Ouch! Niles, stop that! Frasier's here!"

I could hear him gasp from the other side of the door. But then, true to form, he called over the attendant and began explaining that his brother was locked in, and if she could just open the door and be on her way...

I helped Niles to his feet behind me. I smiled at him as we stood, face to face. A Niles/Roz bonding moment? These are rare. But he was smiling back at me. A real, sincere smile.

"Niles, you don't know how much I wish it had worked out for you."

He lowered his eyes. "Thank you, Roz. You might not believe this, but that means a lot coming from you."

I believed it. I looked at him for a little bit and started thinking about Donny and Daphne. And her current life. And I said something I probably shouldn't have. "And I wish that it still could. Maybe it will, Niles. Just let it be."

He smiled and squeezed my hands just as the door finally opened, and we were confronted by a shocked Frasier and flight attendant. Frasier gaped as we walked back to our seats, still clasping hands.

You know what? It might sound crazy, but I think it will still work out for him.

Let's just say I had a vision.

* * *

"Aw, Jeez, Fras, face it," I said as I crumpled the map in frustration. "You should've just taken Daph up on her offer to pick us up."

The two in the back seat were still grinning about Frasier's reaction to their little lock-in. He didn't look nearly so amused, let me tell you. "Dad, open the map! We can still find it! She gave us excellent directions!" He looked into the rear view mirror. "Oh, would you two just shut up?"

Niles grinned for what seemed like the first time in years. "Oh, but Frasier, you should've seen your face. It was too perfect."

He grimaced. "Yeah, Frasier." She laughed and started talking in a real low, breathy voice. "Frasier, Niles and I have trapped ourselves in here. Please let us out. And be discreet!"

Niles smiled at her – a real smile! "Slut."

"Snob." And the banter was back.

He glared back at them. "Oh, laugh it up, that's right. We'll probably never find Daphne and you two are having a grand old time back there!"

"Ooh, turn here, Fras! Turn, turn, turn!" I said, pointing right.

"Are you sure, Dad? You've said that at least a hundred times. At least we're actually in Hingham this time."

I glared at him. "Yes, I'm sure. There's Daph!"

She was still a way's off from us, jogging in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt (did the woman realize that there was ice and snow on the ground?), her hair pulled back in a tight half-ponytail. And she had a tall, thin, very white golden retriever on a leash.

She looked different.

"She's lost too much weight. Look how thin she is." That was Roz, if you couldn't guess.

"Her hair's sure gotten long." Me.

"Look at that dog." Frasier.

"I wonder if she still smells the same."

We all looked back at him, and he had the decency to look embarrassed.

Frasier pulled up beside her. She didn't notice until he called out. "Daphne!"

She looked up, breathing hard, and when she saw us, she smiled brighter than I've ever seen her do. I opened the door and got out. "Daph!" I held my arms out.

She grinned. "Are you sure you want to do that, Mister Crane? I'm quite sweaty." Yeah, she was. Her sweatshirt looked drenched.

I hugged her anyway. "I've missed you way too much to worry about that, Daph."

I held her for a long time, but I'd missed her too damn much not to. Finally, I pulled back from her. She did look too thin... and the dark circles under her eyes made me wonder how she'd been sleeping. But maybe that's just the dad in me talking. "You look good, Daph."

She shook her head. "I look a mess. But, you see, I assumed it'd take you all much longer to find the place." She grinned. "Although you're still several miles away from the mark, I'm sorry to say."

Roz had gotten out behind me. Now, she was running around to greet her. "Aw, Daph, girl, it's so good to see you!" She wrapped her in a huge hug, and they stood there rocking back and forth for what seemed like forever. "God, I thought I was never gonna see you again!"

Daph grinned. "You just saw me a couple months ago, Roz!"

Roz's eyes widened and she glared. "Three months! It's been three months!"

Daph shrugged and smiled innocently. "Sorry..."

Frasier stayed in the car longer, partly because he was the driver and partly to keep it from seeming so awkward that Niles wasn't moving, I think. He finally shifted toward the passenger seat and opened the door, perching himself on the edge of the seat. "Daphne, sweetheart. It's been too long."

She leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Yes, it has." She glanced back at Niles. "And how're you, Doctor Crane?"

He looked up, a bit guiltily, smiled slightly, and stepped out of the car.

At which point, the dog attacked him.

Well, not attacked in a bad way. Attacked affectionately. He dove at poor Niles' feet, forcing him to pet him. She smiled. "He likes you, I think."

Niles smiled. Really smiled. Didn't even mind the damn dog. In fact, he actually knelt down and started petting the thing. I think it just gave him an excuse not to look at her, though. "And what's this fellow's name?"

"Sebastian. Lord Sebastian Flyte."

Niles looked up at her. "From –?"

She nodded. "Brideshead." He shivered a little bit, and I got the feeling there was more there than either of them let on. She cleared her throat. "Well, like I said, we're about three miles away from the house right now. I can give you directions and meet you in about half an hour."

Frasier smiled. "Or we could give you a ride."

She laughed. "You've got to be kidding. Sebastian here's a mess, and I'm sure I'm even worse."

Frasier grinned. "Oh, Daph, it is just a rental. And I'm sure Niles and Roz won't mind if..." He glanced down at the dog a bit distastefully. "...Sebastian here rides in the back with them."

She took a deep breath. "Well –" She glanced at her watch. "I do need to get showered and start setting up."

I patted her on the back. "You're weakening, I can tell."

She nodded. "All right. So... how exactly are you planning on making this work?"

In the end, Roz, Niles, and I sat in the back, the dog spread across our laps. My son pet it faithfully, but I still think it was just a little ploy to avoid conversation. Daph navigated from the front seat. Niles didn't seem to mind her smell.

* * *

"Daphne... your house is beautiful," Frasier remarked as we gazed at it from the front.

She looked up. "It's quite nice, isn't it? Wait until you see the view from the back."

We brought our luggage in, and she showed us the guest rooms. "Well, we've actually got four guest bedrooms, but we gutted the last, replaced the whole back wall with windows, and turned it into a studio." She grinned that dazzling smile. "So you all can draw straws or something to see who gets to be unlucky enough to spend the night on a couch amongst my paintings."

"I'll sleep there." I don't really know why I said it. But I wanted to, I really, really did. Aside from that, though, we barely spoke a word.

She showered and came down in sweats and a t-shirt, waved to us and told us to make ourselves at home, and headed to the kitchen, the large dog following close behind.

I followed her to the doorway of the kitchen and watched her work, measuring spices and chopping vegetables for various sauces.

"Would you... would you like some help?"

She caught sight of me and jumped slightly, but then she smiled. "Oh, well, Doctor Crane, if you'd like. You're welcome to help with the hors d'eouvres..."

I walked up, a bit nervously. All right, quite a bit nervously. "Daphne, you don't have someone helping you with this? A caterer?"

She shook her head and resumed her chopping. "Donny prefers that I do it myself." She laughed a bit, although I didn't find it a bit funny. "I suppose, that way, if someone compliments the food, he can say, 'Ooh, my Daphne made it.'" She glanced up at me. "Doctor Crane, are you all right?"

"Ah... yes, yes! I find that I... uh... often clench my jaw when deep in thought."

She nodded slightly and went back to her cooking.

What was wrong?

Everything was as it should have been. We were in a kitchen, cooking together... we're usually so at ease. What happened to the familiar banter, the... "Doctor Crane, I hope I didn't make you feel uncomfortable the last time I saw you." She didn't look up.

Oh, Daphne, you always make me feel uncomfortable. But in a very good way... "Unco..." I cleared my throat. "Uncomfortable?"

She looked up at me nervously. "I realize I said some things that you might've interpreted in... a different light than I meant them... Well, it probably all sounded terribly inappropriate and must've made you horridly uncomfortable, what with your being engaged. I wanted to clear everything up, so we can be friends." She paused and took my hands.

* * *

And told a lie.

"I do love you, Doctor Crane, but as a friend."

He swallowed. Twice. Took a deep, shaky breath. "Well... well, thank you, Daphne, for setting that record clear. I'd hate to..." He shook his head, seemingly at a loss for words, and finally nodded. "Thank you."

Good Lord. Have I just made a terrible mistake?

He pointed toward the living room, where his brother, his father, and Roz were sitting. "Perhaps I should rejoin them. They might be missing me."

I nodded, embarrassingly shy. Just then, though, Sebastian came bounding in. And nuzzled poor Doctor Crane mercilessly. I giggled. "He's taken quite a shine to you. That's amazing. He's usually not very good around company." I bent down to pat his ears. "He's always been a bit timid. I think it's because of the home he had before he came to me. I dare say that woman didn't treat him very well. But he took to me immediately, which is why I took him in. He never has been fond of Donny, though. Of course, Donny could do without him, also, I suspect, but he knows well enough to keep his mouth shut about it."

Doctor Crane nodded a bit and knelt down beside me on the kitchen floor to rub his ears. "You say his name's Sebastian? Lord Sebastian Flyte? As in –"

I smiled. "Well, yes, you'll remember that I told you it's one of my favorite books. And you and I had such a wonderful time watching the series together, do you remember?" I hoped he did. It had been wonderful, really. Several weeks after the shake-up with that terrible Doctor Schenkman, even a bit after the mix-up with that Daphyllis woman. We were discussing the book one day at Doctor Crane's when Doctor Crane suggested that we watch the miniseries together. We had nightly viewings for six nights, an episode a night, and we'd talk and drink each night after the show until the wee hours of the morning.

He nodded. "Of course I remember."

I turned back toward Sebastian, who had started licking my ear and nuzzling his nose into my hair. How to explain without completely embarrassing myself? "Well, Sebastian here reminded me of you, and that reminded me of Brideshead, and he looks so prim and proper, all dressed in white, so I named him Sebastian." I paused. "And he needed someone to take care of and someone to be taken care of by. Just like Sebastian. He takes care of me, and I take care of him."

Doctor Crane smiled thoughtfully, just as Sebastian turned to him and licked his cheek. "Oh, goodness. He is affectionate, isn't he?" he said as he tried to push Sebastian off him a bit.

I grinned. "This is really amazing, Doctor Crane. He adores you."

We were sitting side by side on the kitchen floor, Sebastian sprawled across our laps. Doctor Crane was looking at him and rubbing his ears. The dear soul (my dog, I mean) was in paradise. I was about to say something else when Doctor Crane suddenly turned toward me, and our faces were just a couple inches apart. I could feel his breath on my mouth as I looked into his eyes.

That's when I had the first vision I'd had in months. It was my mystery man, crouched down in a dark, cramped corner, next to... a toilet? He was talking about me... whispering about how I'd rebuffed him again and again, broken his heart and never even known it. I sat up straight. "Oh, good Lord."

Doctor Crane pulled back. "What is it?"

I scrambled up. "Dinner! Dinner. Dinner's never going to be ready on time if I don't get working, and that'd upset Donny." I turned my back to him, avoiding his eyes, as I turned to the stove. "You'd better go find your father and brother, make sure they haven't gotten themselves into trouble. I'll be along shortly as soon as I pop this into the oven."

He nodded but stood still for a little while behind me. Finally, he whispered, "I've missed you, Daphne."

I nodded, staring at the hors d'oeuvres, and waited until I heard the kitchen door close behind him.

Oh, bloody hell, what have I done?

* * *

All night, she played the part of the perfect hostess. She was gracious, agreeable, and... quiet.

During dinner, she had introduced Frasier, Roz, Dad, and I, explaining in detail who we were and where we were from. She didn't explain how she knew us, simply referred to us as "friends." Whenever she was asked about her past, she gave vague gestures and roundabout answers. And even though she didn't speak much, I could tell for the first time how much her accent had faded. I remember that, the first time I met her, I was able to place her distinctly as Mancunian. Now, it had faded so much (or she was hiding it so well), I'd never have been able to pinpoint her origin. I wondered briefly if that was the intent.

On the whole, she acted in a way totally opposing her nature. She acted demure.

Donny, on the other hand, after breezing in, greeting us quickly, and kissing Daphne on the cheek, greeted his guests one by one and talked their ears off all night, for all intents and purposes ignoring his wife. I recalled his crass behavior during our first meeting. Granted, he had refined himself since then, most likely to make it in his new firm, but the attitude was the same. I still respected his tenacity, even his audacity. It made for a good lawyer, an excellent lawyer, but... a man for Daphne should be...

"So, you say you're a psychiatrist?"

I smiled politely at the woman standing next to me in the living room, where all the company had gathered for drinks after dinner. I sipped my sherry. "Yes, I am."

She smiled brightly. "And how did you say you know Daphne?"

Ouch. How to get around this without spoiling whatever it was Daphne was hiding. "A mutual acquaintance, actually. My brother introduced us." All I wanted to do was go to Daphne's studio and stay locked away for the rest of the night.

"And how did she and your brother meet?"

I grinned what would have been an obviously fake smile to anyone who knew me at all. "Through work." I yawned grandly. "Oh, it looks like travel has gotten to me. I'm feeling a bit jet-lagged." Never mind that it's only eight in Seattle. "I think I'll be heading upstairs soon."

The woman – Marjorie, was it? – nodded. "Oh, I understand. My husband and I just returned from a cruise in the Mediterranean. All I wanted to do was sleep for days when we stepped off the plane here in Boston!"

"Yes, yes, well. I'm going to give my regrets to the host and hostess, and then I'll depart. It's been lovely talking with you."

"Likewise, Doctor Crane."

I looked around the room for Roz. She was chatting with a handsome gentleman who, if I recalled correctly, was a client of Donny's, a doctor of some kind. I walked up to her. "Roz, a word?"

She smiled that smile that lets me know she wants to kill me. "Can't it wait till later, Niles?"

I smiled the same smile back at her. "No, it can't, Roz." I looked up at her companion. "Just a moment, if you don't mind."

She stomped after me. "What is it? I'll have you know I was having a fabulous conversation with an about-to-be-divorced doctor!"

I rolled my eyes. "We're leaving in just a few days for the opposite side of the country, Roz, and I'm sorry to disappoint you, but, although I hear phone sex has its charms, I don't think the phone bills would make it worth your while."

She put her hands on her hips. "Just tell me what you want."

"Is Daphne acting strangely?"

She sighed. "Maybe. I don't know, Niles."

I glared. "I know you've noticed. You've got to have noticed."

"All right, all right, she's acting weird. Is that what you want to hear?"

I shook my head and sighed. "Oh, never mind. I'm sure it's nothing. I'm looking too closely. Goodnight, Roz. I'm going upstairs." I released her to go back to her doctor and walked over toward where Daphne was standing, looking minutely uncomfortable among a group including Donny and a couple of his clients. I leaned toward her. "Daphne, may I speak with you?"

She looked up, shocked. Donny grinned at me with his annoyingly toothy smile. "Boys, did I mention that I worked Niles' here divorce case?"

I nodded politely, mentioned something about how efficient and clever he'd been, and took Daphne to the side. She was watching me carefully, almost nervously. Oh, good God. Is this what we've become? "Daphne... I'm feeling a bit tired. I thought I might go upstairs now, if you don't mind. I'm sure we'll have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow, so I suppose it's best that I get to bed." I tried to smile.

She looked at me curiously, nodded, and spoke. "That's fine, Doctor Crane. Do you need any help?" She blushed, realizing how that sounded. "I mean, my studio's not exactly set up as a guest room. Will you be able to find everything? Towels? Sheets? Comforter? I laid them out, but..." She shook her head. "I should come with you."

I shook my head, gazing at the grandfather clock in the hallway beside the stairs. Eleven forty-five. Still only just before nine in Seattle. I'd never get to sleep. "No, Daphne. You stay with your guests. I'll find everything. I just wanted to say goodnight."

She nodded a bit and bid me goodnight.

I wearily made my way up the stairs. My bag was at the top on the landing, along with the rest of them. (Roz officially packed the most: two suitcases. Perhaps she was planning on moving in with the good doctor downstairs?) I lifted my garment bag and briefcase (yes, I brought my work with me to Boston) and carried them with me into Daphne's studio, turning on the lights.

The room was magnificent. It had clearly been gutted and redone. In fact, Daphne had even had the attic above the room taken out, apparently, and incorporated: the walls rose, straight and white, to the slanted incline of the roof nearly twenty-five feet above in which there were several skylights and from which hung the fluorescent lighting that was now illuminating the room. The entire back wall had been replaced with tall panes of glass surrounding a set of French doors which led to an outdoor balcony. Daphne had been right. The view across the harbor was amazing, I could tell, even with only the dim lights of the far shore within my view.

A line from Fitzgerald came into my head, and I laughed at the fact that it seemed strangely appropriate: "Gatsby believed in the green light."

By day, this view would be extraordinary.

The room had the qualities of a loft apartment, and, as such, it seemed utterly removed from the rest of the rather formal house. This was Daphne's space.

I glanced around me, feeling blinded by the harsh, fluorescent lighting. Noticing a floor lamp beside the couch, I turned off the overheads, made my way to the couch by the light of the full moon through the windows, and switched on the small, dim lamp as I pulled off my jacket and sunk into the plush, suede couch. I was surrounded by Daphne's art, several dozen paintings, probably, as well as numerous sketches which were tacked to the walls. An easel stood beside the windows, a drawing table in the corner.

I had thrown my jacket and garment bag beside me, not caring if my clothes came out slightly rumpled. I breathed in. The air smelled like her. Cherry bark and almond. And the English countryside and heather and scents and shampoos and bourbon...

At least, that's how it's always hit me...

I was in the middle of Daphne's world. It was like being cradled in the womb. I had the feeling I would never want to leave.

I stood and walked toward a second easel, which stood away from the windows. On it was a portrait of... Roz and Alice. It was incredible, really. Alice, beautiful baby that she can be (though is not always at all), smiled happily at the onlooker, reaching out toward whoever had snapped her photo. Roz, hair pulled back with only a few strands hanging down around her ears, gazed down at her child, with a sense of divine, maternal... awe.

Roz, for all her shortcomings, is an excellent mother, fiercely protective and passionately loving of her child.

Of course, she HAS just left her in Seattle with a less than stable neighbor for the duration of the week.

But we can't all be perfect, right?

I glanced at the top of the easel. The photo from which Daphne was working was taped to it. I pulled it off and turned it over. It was a note from Roz to Daphne: "This is the photo I'd like you to use. Thank you so much, Daph! I love you for this! And don't worry, things will start looking up before you know it. Roz."

I sighed and put the photo back in place and went to take care of my nightly routine. I showered and changed into my grey silk pajamas mechanically, finding the Egyptian cotton sheets and down comforter Daphne had left out for me easily. I returned to the couch, then, pulling the comforter around me, not the least bit tired.

And remembered, suddenly, what we had brought for Daphne that happened to be in my bag.

I pulled out a couple of Daphne's old sketchbooks and began thumbing through one.

Just then, a head poked itself through the slightly ajar door.

A white, furry head.

And I said something I never thought I'd say to a dog.

"Oh, all right. Come on up." The dog walked over to me, climbed awkwardly onto the couch, and settled himself against me in a position which, I could tell from the white hairs already on the couch, he was used to assuming with Daphne.

Sebastian and I settled in to peruse Daphne's last artistic print from seven months before.

* * *

She seemed relieved when all the guests had gone. They left around midnight, shortly after Niles had retired.

She smiled at the four of us in the room with her. "Would anyone care for tea?"

Donny shook his head. "Actually, Daph, I think I'm gonna head up. Early morning tomorrow and all." He leaned over to her a kissed her cheek. "You coming up soon?"

She looked at him (quite strangely, I thought), and responded, "Probably not very, no. I think I'll stay down here and chat for a while." She glanced over at us. "Provided you all aren't sleepy? I'd hate to keep you up your first night here if you're tired."

I smiled and walked over to her, putting my arm around her shoulder. "No, Daphne, I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say we would love the time to catch up." I paused. "That is, unless you're too tired."

She shook her head and turned back to Donny. "You go ahead to sleep, love. I'll see you in the morning."

He nodded and turned toward the stairs. "Oh, and remember to lock that lousy dog of yours up before you come to sleep."

She smiled stiffly until he was out of earshot. "He's not too fond of dear Sebastian, I'm afraid. I've never quite been sure why. So Sebastian sleeps in my studio."

I wrinkled my forehead as I walked her over to the sofa. "But isn't Niles –"

She smiled. "Which is why Donny's insisted he be locked in the laundry room tonight, poor dear. He's been there all evening."

I smiled as we sat down. Dad had seated himself in the wing chair nearby, and Roz stood in a corner. "So, Daphne, tell us everything." I glanced up. "Oh, Roz, be a dear and make us tea, would you?"

She rolled her eyes, walked over to me, grabbed my hand, and pulled me up. "Listen, buster. If there's tea being made, it's gonna be made by you." She grinned as she sat down beside Daphne in the place from which I had been forcibly exiled. "Thanks Frasier. What would I do without you?"

I grimaced as I walked toward the kitchen. "God only knows, Roz."

* * *

Below some of the portraits was a date and an explanation of the current meaning to her of the subject. It was... an artistic journal.

If I'd known this sketchbook doubled as her diary, I'd never have opened it.

I pressed my handkerchief more firmly against my nose as I turned to the next page.

I gazed at the portrait in front of me.

It was me.

She drew me.

In the portrait, shoulders up, I gazed in front of me almost reverently, as if in adoration. I looked ridiculous. Through no fault of her own, of course. It was me to a tee. This must be how I look... when I look at her.

Yet, the portrait itself, a pencil sketch, was... was quite wonderful. There was something very tender and slow about it, as if she'd put more care into it than any of the others I'd scene thus far, quick, rough sketches of Dad or Frasier or Roz or even Eddie. None of Donny, strangely. But this... a chill ran up my spine.

I glanced at the caption, then tore my eyes away.

No. I shouldn't

But I couldn't resist, so I tilted my head back a little to slow the blood flow and began reading.

18 December 1999 Received... shocking news. Doctor Crane (N., not F., thankfully)... in love with me? Too much to think about. More later.

Well, that certainly wasn't much.

I tore the page out anyway. (She hadn't seen these journals in seven months – she'd never miss one sketch). It fit securely in the front pocket of my briefcase.

I thumbed through more pages. Frasier... Dad... Stephen Moon (apparently drawn after an extensive telephone conversation, although she didn't write what it was about)...

Ah. Here.

Me again. With Daphne. On the balcony at Frasier's apartment. And again, right beside that, with Mel. I glanced at the date. Frasier's Christmas party. There was no explanation, though.

I closed the book, feeling quite the cad for going through it.

I checked my handkerchief. Yes, I was beginning to clot.

I glanced down at Sebastian, who was asleep atop the comforter which covered me. "I guess it's just you and me, boy."

* * *

Doctor Crane finished his second cup of tea and yawned. "I was thinking of going to see Freddie tomorrow. Would you all like to come with me?"

Mister Crane grinned. "Aw, yeah, Fras! I'd love to see him. Gotta give him his Christmas present, anyway."

Doctor Crane rolled his eyes. "Of course, I don't want you blaming me when he's not thrilled with your gift. When I told you he wanted something reminiscent of the film ╘Gladiator,' I meant possibly of copy of the writings of Marcus Aurelius or even a photographic depiction Rome, not a ╘Maximus' action figure."

I grinned, and Mister Crane glared. "Hey, I got him the whole model Coliseum!"

Doctor Crane sighed. "Ooh, is it just like the computer-generated one?"

Mister Crane shook his head. "Well, Daph, I think I'm off to bed. Just point me in the right direction."

I led him upstairs, hugged him goodnight, and then walked back down.

Doctor Crane was looking up at me hopefully. "So, Daphne, will you come with us?"

I smiled as I collected the tea cups. "Actually, Doctor Crane, I saw Freddie last week, and I've already seen Lilith twice in the past few weeks. I think I've satisfied my quota for the month," I joked.

He frowned before it dawned on him. "Oh, I forgot that you see Freddie so often." He grinned. "He lives for your visits, you know. He adores you."

I smiled. "He's growing into quite a fellow. Just like his dad, I'm sure. The other day, he asked for my photo to put in his scrapbook. Lilith told me that he'd actually put it in his wallet and had bragged to all his classmates that I'd kissed him on the cheek once." I shook my head. "You'll have to watch out for that one, you will."

Doctor Crane nodded thoughtfully. "You manage to see Lilith quite often, don't you? What prompted that?"

Strangely enough, it was true. I'd never much liked her when she visited Seattle (and, I'll admit, especially after her interlude with the other Doctor Crane), but... well, she'd become part of Boston to me.

One of the first things I made a point of doing in Boston was visiting young Freddie. I'm really very fond of him, and I wanted him to know I was here if he needed me. As it happened, Lilith asked me to lunch with her, and, as it happened, I accepted.

We didn't speak much during that first lunch. But I remember her, shaking her head halfway through her first glass of merlot. She spoke in that matter-of-fact, no-nonsense way she always has, as if she's almost bored. "You certainly have a way with the Crane men, don't you, Daphne?"

I glanced up. "Pardon?"

And then, wonder of wonders, she smiled. "Freddie adores you. Niles reveres you. Frasier and Martin are so protective of you that they'd die before they'd let you get hurt. They all love you so much. It... well, frankly, it amazes me." She paused. "Perhaps I should be more like you, Daphne."

I wasn't insulted as I once would have been, because I didn't naturally assume it to be a patronizing insult as I once would have. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "Well, you're so..." She put her fork down, clasped her hands together in front of her, as if I were a patient she was about to diagnose, and leaned forward. "I suppose what I'm trying to say is that you're so free, Daphne. I wish I could be that."

Of course, the irony of it is that I'm really not free at all.

After that, we developed... if not exactly a friendship, a rapport. We'd go to lunch occasionally, and she... she actually told me things, looked to me for advice about Doctor Crane and Freddie. And, in the process, she became my... acting psychiatrist, I suppose, to work my way through my troubles about life with Donny and in Boston.

And then, there was one strange... unexpected night, when Donny and I were fighting and I especially needed a listening ear, that I went to her apartment and we... well, we got drunk together and had an... If you can believe it, Lilith Sternin and I had an honest to God "girl talk." That's when I discovered the second irony of her first statement: She IS free, delightfully free, when she lets loose and throws her hair back.

Our evening get-togethers have become something of a weekly occurrence. She's become, over time, someone I'm happy to call a friend. Someone I honestly enjoy spending time with.

Yes, I know what you're thinking. And trust me, I'd be the last bloody person on the planet to have guessed it a year ago. But I think she needed someone just as much as I did.

I grinned at the memories. The downside is that I certainly know more about Doctor Crane now than I ever needed to.

I had the sudden urge to call him "Conan" to see what he'd do...

Someone tell me, has hell frozen over quite yet?

I cleared my throat. "We see each other from time to time, yes. It just... developed over time, I suppose."

Roz shuddered. "Oh, God, Daph, how you can stand to be with that woman more than two seconds at a time amazes me."

Doctor Crane glared at her. "Just for that, you're going with me to see Freddie tomorrow morning." His eyes lit up. "Oh, and while we're in town, I'll take you and Dad to the bar I used to frequent for lunch! Won't that be fun?"

Roz shot me that pleading, "Please get me out of this!" look, but I just shook my head. "Sounds like the three of you will have a full day."

She rolled her eyes at me, hugged me, and made her way up the stairs. "Thanks for everything, Daph. Tonight's been fantastic, although I can see what you mean about those society ladies."

Doctor Crane stood up. "Why, Roz, I thought..." He fumbled. "I thought... some of them... were quite... pleasant."

"No you didn't, you idiot," she yelled from the top of the stairs, and then she was gone.

I sighed and smiled at Doctor Crane as I walked with the cups to the kitchen and set them down beside the sink. I turned to him and smiled again. "You have no idea how happy I am that you're here. I tried so hard to convince Donny to let me fly out to Seattle, but he always has one of these soirees that I apparently have to not only be present at but also prepare for."

Doctor Crane nodded and wrapped his arms around me. "We're so happy to be here, Daphne." He leaned back. "I'm... I'm sorry about Niles' behavior tonight." I shuffled my feet and looked down. "He's been a bit... out of sorts recently." I nodded, still looking at my feet. He sighed. "Well, goodnight, Daphne."

"Goodnight, Doctor Crane."

* * *

I was awakened from my thoughts in the dark as the door to the studio creaked open slightly. I glanced at my travel clock slash noise maker. Three am already... Sebastian slept soundly on my stomach.

"Sebastian!" It was Daphne, calling to the dog in a harsh whisper. "You naughty dog, you come here!"

She opened the door slightly wider, and I could see her silhouette. She was wearing a sheer silk nightgown with a very low v-neckline, an empire waistline, and a flowing skirt, through which, against the dim light of the hallway, I could clearly see the outline of her legs.

No bathrobe.

Dear God, was she trying to kill me?

But Lord, she was thin. Frighteningly thin.

"Sebastian!" she whispered again.

"Daphne, I'm awake."

She jumped a little, seeming very surprised, and crossed her arms in front of her chest nervously.

I've never known Daphne to be modest.

She looked down. "I couldn't sleep. Well, to be perfectly honest, I don't sleep very often, so I come in here to see Sebastian and have some tea. I thought he was locked downstairs, but when I went down to sit with him..." She shrugged and smiled. "Well, I knew where he'd be. How long's he been up here?"

I rubbed his ears, and he woke up enough to look up at me and close his eyes again. "Since midnight, maybe."

She shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Doctor Crane. I know he must've been terrible. And I'm sorry to wake you up –"

"I was awake, Daphne. And he's been fine. Why can't you sleep?"

She shrugged. "I don't really know. I've developed quite a case of insomnia since we moved here, though."

I took a deep breath, working up my nerve. "Daphne, would you like to come in and talk?" She looked at me skeptically, and I hastened to add, "I can tell you right now that I won't be getting any more sleep tonight regardless."

She nodded and walked toward me, and I cleared half of the sofa for her, a feat which required the transferal of the dog from the couch to the floor. As she sat down on the far end, I handed half of the comforter to her, and she nodded gratefully as she curled up under it.

I suddenly felt emboldened, simply by the fact that she had accepted my offer.

Her feet brushed mine. I grinned up at her, surprised. "Your feet are freezing! C'mere." I reached under the covers, took them, and began rubbing them. She looked surprised. I certainly was. I smiled nervously. "Err – consider it a payback for all those years of backrubs."

She leaned back against the sofa, relaxing noticeably, as I watched her intently through the dark.

"Doctor Crane –"

"Why do you do that?"

She looked at me. "Do what?"

"You've gone back to calling me Doctor Crane."

"Don't you think that's more appropriate? After all, we haven't spoken in almost seven months."

I watched her for a while, trying to build my courage to ask her the question I'd been dying to ask... but was afraid I already knew the answer to. "Why didn't you write me, Daphne? You promised you'd try."

She looked at me sharply. "Why didn't you write me?"

I sighed. "I didn't want to... I didn't know..." I looked down. "I was scared."

Her gaze softened. "Of what? Of me?"

I shook my head slowly, watching her. "Of the way we left things. It was like... like a delicate balance that I didn't want to disrupt. And I wasn't sure if you'd be ready to hear from me..."

She nodded. "It's probably better that you didn't write. May I ask you a question?"

She sounded worried. I was worried. "Yes. Anything."

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, as if working up her own nerve. She's never been self-conscious about anything. What's become of her?

"Roz told me that you didn't want to come to Boston. That you couldn't see me because of... of... of..." She looked up at me, almost fearfully. "Because of what I did the last time we were together. Because of what I said. What did she mean by that?"

I was confused. Shouldn't it be obvious? "What did you take it to mean?"

"That... that you didn't lo... feel the same anymore and that what I said and did made you uncomfortable."

She thought that? "You thought that?" She nodded, looking away from me. I made my way over to her side of the couch and very... very carefully and timidly wrapped my arms around her. "How could you ever think that?"

She shook her head as she buried her face into my chest, crying slightly. "I... I shouldn't have brought it up."

"Yes, you should've. I want you to know how I felt. How I..." Another deep breath. The conversation was a mixture of ecstasy and agony. And... well, was this real? "How I feel."

She sighed and pressed closer into me, and I pulled her back toward my end of the couch until we were lying down. I lay on my back, and she lay pressed against my side (wearing next to nothing, might I add), her back to the back of the couch, her head on my shoulder and her fist balled up on my chest as I stroked her hair.

"But Daphne... you're married. Why did it matter to you how I felt?"

She lifted her head and looked at me. "Because I'm selfish, I think. All I wanted was for you to love me."

I nodded as if that explained it all. "It's not selfish, not really. And I'm... I'm honored that it could mean that much to you."

She sighed and laid her head back on my shoulder. "It does. So much."

We lay there for quite awhile, until I thought she'd gone to sleep. "Daphne?"

"Mmmhhhmmm."

I reached down to the hand that was lying on my chest and stroked her wrist absently, around the bracelet. She was wearing it. "Do you wear this often?"

"I don't take it off." She paused. "Well, only when I have to."

It gave me chills to hear her say that, that my gift had meant to much to her. "Daphne, may I ask you a question?"

She nodded into my shoulder, seemingly half-asleep.

"Why are you changing yourself?"

She pulled herself up to look at me, and my hand fell from stroking her hair to stroking her back.

The bare skin at the top of her back.

A chill ran down my spine.

"What do you mean?"

I tried to pull myself down from my sensory overload. "Hmm?"

"About me changing. What do you mean?"

I took a deep breath. "Well..." I hoped she wouldn't take this the wrong way. "Will you hear me out before you say anything? I don't want to hurt you."

She nodded, watching me with her brow wrinkled.

"Part of what we all love so much about you, Daphne, is your... boldness. And the way you can completely wrap yourself up in the most minor details... the way life, no matter how harsh it can be, endlessly fascinates and overjoys you. The way you can talk forever about and get such joy out of your childhood. Your stories are wonderful. As is your exuberance. Your faith. We love all that. I love all that. It's all part of what makes you... you."

She smiled. "That's so... thank you."

I swallowed, trying to word this correctly. "But Daphne... over the past couple years, I've noticed a change in you. You haven't mentioned your visions in..." I looked down. "Since you came to my office that day worried about Donny's proposal. We... I noticed last year, but I didn't worry, because it was as if... as if you'd transferred your exuberance into a... a silent passion. And... and that was beautiful. But... Daphne, tonight, at dinner, you barely said a word. You avoided all questions about where you were from, and... your accent... it was different. You were... you were almost... timid, Daphne. That's... it's unlike you, is all. I wanted to know if something's been wrong."

She smiled nervously. "Oh, I think you're imagining things. If I'm... quieter and more reserved, it's because I've become more thoughtful. And today has been quite the stressful day, Doctor Crane."

"Niles. I feel... terribly uncomfortable having you call me Doctor Crane, what with what you know. And what with... the way I'm... holding you... now." Oh, my dear Lord. Did I say that? How embarrassing.

She nodded, though, and even smiled shyly. "Niles."

She laid her head back against my shoulder as I watched her. "If you're sure..."

"I am."

I didn't believe her, but I wanted to. All I wanted was for her to be happy. "I suppose I was mistaken. I'm sure it's been stressful. After all, the wedding preparation must have been trying. And the recent move. And having us come out suddenly like this, on top of this soiree."

"And don't forget your part in my stress levels before I left Seattle."

"My part?" I questioned, again confused.

She looked up again, smiling. "Yes. You made my last six or so months in Seattle very stressful. Knowing what I knew, I mean." She placed her head back on my shoulder, and I resumed stroking her hair. After a moment, she continued, her tone manifesting disbelief. "You really... loved... those things about me? Honestly? Those were... good things?"

"They were wonderful things, Daphne. But you'd be wonderful regardless. You're wonderful now."

Nothing else was said. Her breathing became slow and even. "Daphne?" I whispered. "Daphne?"

She was asleep.

Imagine that.

So was I, before long.

When I woke up, she was gone. So was Sebastian, for that matter.

I glanced at the clock. It was a bit after ten. Apparently, I'd gotten almost a whole seven hours of sleep. I felt better rested than I had in ages.

I sat up, stretched, pulled my dressing gown out of my garment bag, and walked over toward the back wall. Opening the door, I walked out onto the balcony and gasped. It was breathtaking. And the sea-breeze on my face felt... revitalizing.

After a few moments, I left the room and walked downstairs into the kitchen, where Daphne was sitting, dressed and ready to face the day, at the table reading the paper. She looked up and smiled when I walked in. "Well, you certainly slept late. I'd tell you good morning, but I hardly think that's appropriate at this hour."

I shook my head as I stood in the doorway, grinning. "You shouldn't complain. You're the one who decided to poke your head in at that ungodly hour. So it's really your fault."

She rolled her eyes as she stood. "Oh, you. So do you want breakfast? I've got strawberries and cream, orange juice, espresso..."

A far cry from Frasier's standard bran muffin and coffee that he required her to prepare in Seattle. "Sounds wonderful, Daphne. But you sit down. I'll get it."

She cocked an eyebrow at me mischievously. "Are you trying to tell me you know how to operate the espresso machine?"

"Well..." All right, she had me there. "All right, no."

She slapped me on the arm as she walked by. Thank God. Things were... normal again. "Cappuccino fine?"

"Sounds wonderful. Where're the strawberries and cream?"

She grinned from her place in front of the espresso machine. "Try the refrigerator."

I went about fixing myself breakfast as she made us coffee. "Are you having anything?"

She shook her head as she brought my coffee to the table and sat beside me. "Oh, no, I'm not really a breakfast kind of person."

What? Since when?

"So... where are Dad, Frasier, and Roz?"

"They went to see Freddie and Lilith, and then they're going to have a bit of lunch at that little bar your brother always mentions."

I tried to sound disappointed. "Oh, man. Sorry to have missed them. You know I always jump at the chance to see little Freddie and... his mother. Well, won't Freddie be disappointed not to see you, Daphne?"

She grinned. "Oh, the little rat worked up a scheme to see me last weekend." She proceeded to do a darned good, if somewhat exaggerated, impression of my nephew's whine. "╘Mum! Mum! I feel sick, will you call Daphne to come over and read me a bedtime story? Please? I really need to see Daphne.'"

I laughed. "And you bought that?"

She raised an eyebrow at me as she lifted her coffee cup to her lips, grinning almost... almost evilly. "Well, I always bought it coming from you, too."

Oh, God. How extraordinarily embarrassing. I lowered my eyes, watching my coffee determinedly, and shook my head as I whispered, "You certainly have a way with the Crane men, don't you, Daphne?"

She looked up, seeming surprised. "What?"

I raised my eyes. "Oh. Nothing. And... where is Donny this morning?"

Another sip of her coffee. "He's got meetings all day today. He's preparing for a terribly big case, and they want to start the depositions right after Christmas. You won't be seeing him much over the next few days, I'm afraid."

"Oh, darn. What a shame. Terrible to miss him, you know." I think I overdid it a bit, and I think she knew it. "So, Daphne, that leaves... just us?"

"Yes. There's so much that I want to show you." She sounded excited, as if ignoring the implications of us... being alone.

"Oh, yes? Like what?"

She grinned. "Finish your breakfast and change, and you'll find out."

So I did.

* * *

"Did Daphne happen to mention if she's dating someone new?"

I grimaced and left Roz to take that one. "No, Frasier. And besides, if she was, don't you think she'd have told you?"

He started rambling and waving his hands around until I pointed out that he should probably have his hands on the wheel. He glared back at me and turned to Roz. "No, not necessarily. I didn't know about her last marriage until she was divorced!"

Roz shook her head. "Look, Frasier, you're gonna have to calm down. You're not doing anyone any good like this. And besides, why do you care?"

He sat up straighter and looked around, as if the thought had just occurred to him. "Right! Why should I CARE? Why SHOULD I care?"

"That's the spirit!" she said as she turned around and mouthed to me, "He's gonna die!"

I nodded and mumbled. "You're right about that."

Finally, he pulled in front of Lilith's townhouse. I'd seen it before and everything, but, well... it was still pretty damn nice, I've gotta say, no matter how many times I see it. Nice brownstone. We all got out, and Frasier led us to the front door. He rang, looking decidedly nervous and decidedly excited when Freddie opened the door instead of his mother.

"Dad! Roz! Grandpa!"

Frasier bent down to grab him. "Son!" Of course, don't think the little bugger was fooling ME, even though Frasier thought he was overjoyed to see him.

After all, the first thing he said after all of that was, "Where's Daphne?"

Frasier smiled. "Oh, she stayed home with your Uncle Niles, Freddie."

Freddie looked concerned as he gave me and Roz hugs of our own. "Are you sure she's okay?"

"She's fine, Freddie."

"You're sure nothing happened?"

"She's fine, Freddie."

"Did she just not want to see me?"

"Everything's fine, Freddie!"

And that's when the Ice Queen herself spoke in that frosty monotone of hers, the one that makes me wanna go running for the hills. "I hear yelling at the front door. Why, Frasier must be here." She walked down the stairs, her black hair pulled back in that slick bun she always wears. She was putting her earring on as she watched us. "Hello Martin, Roz. Yes, Daphne told me last week that you were coming. It would have been considerate of you to call yourself, Frasier. Frederick and I were just on our way out to visit the science museum. Apparently, the new section on genetic engineering is all the rave among the students in his class, and he's embarrassed enough as it is to be going so late." She reached down and patted his head, like he was a dog or something. "Isn't that right, pumpkin?" He nodded obediently, but I couldn't really imagine that any sane kid would want to go there.

"Aw, Jeez," I muttered under my breath, and the Ice Queen glared at me.

"Well," Frasier began, shuffling his feet. "Why don't we come with you? Or we could take Freddie for you!"

She thought about that a little while and then looked down at Freddie. "Darling, would you like to go to the science center with Roz, your father, and your grandfather?"

He nodded. "I guess, Mother."

"All right then. I have to go to the lab, anyway." She walked into the living room and came back with her purse. Frasier still looked as nervous as I'd ever seen him. "Oh, by the way, Frasier, I have some news –"

Frasier's eyes widened in a kind of... well, terror, and he fixed himself with a mock grin as he threw his arm around poor Roz's shoulders. "Me, too! Roz and I are getting married!"

"Really?" That was Freddie.

"Huh?" Me.

"WHAT?" And THAT was Roz. Aw, man. As if she doesn't put up with enough of his BS on a daily basis already.

Lilith just nodded. "Well, Frasier, Roz. Congratulations. This is certainly a surprise."

Frasier nodded cockily and got that weird, arrogant voice he gets sometimes. "You had some... NEWS, Lilith?"

"Yes, actually, I do, Frasier." She glanced down at Freddie as she practically pushed us out the front door. "Frederick, do you have your coat? Your hat? Your mittens?" The kid just nodded. "Good."

"News, Lilith?" He looked like he just couldn't wait for her to let the bomb drop.

I grinned. Neither could I.

She looked up. "I've published a new article on the effects of denial, specifically the repression of memories and emotions, on the family unit. I'd like for you to read it when it comes out. I'd like to know what you think of it."

He watched her as she walked down to her car, his mouth hanging open stupidly. Don't get me wrong, he's my son, but Frasier can be so dumb sometimes.

She looked back once before getting into her little BMW. "Freddie, Mother will be home in a few hours. Frasier, you can drop him off this afternoon. Have fun, dear."

And with that, she was off. Roz elbowed Frasier, and he doubled over. "You jerk! Why'd you do that?"

Freddie, on the other hand, looked ecstatic. "Roz?"

She looked down at him, clearly annoyed. "Yeah, Freddie?"

"Are you really gonna be my new mom?"

She glared at Frasier again before walking down to the rental. "You're gonna have to ask your dad about that one, Freddie."

"Dad?"

Oh, God. I just couldn't wait to see how he was gonna deal with THIS one...

* * *

The phone rang just as I was finishing getting dressed. I heard her grab it downstairs before she ascended the stairs a few at a time and burst into my room. Actually, I don't think she remembered it was my room until she was in, because as soon as she noticed me in front of the mirror adjusting my suspenders, she looked very embarrassed and started to leave.

"It's all right, Daphne. Stay."

She looked at me strangely and then nodded, plopping herself onto the couch and devoting her attention to the phone conversation. I followed and sat beside her. "Are you joshing?"

"Who is it?" I asked softly.

She was laughing into the phone. "Yes, that was him. Hold on a minute." She pulled the phone away from her ear and grinned at me. "Your brother, your father, and Roz just got to Lilith's house for Freddie. She told him she had news, and he let it fly that he and Roz were getting married!"

I almost fell off the couch. "He what?" I laughed. "Who's that on the phone?"

"It's Lilith. She says that it was obvious that it wasn't true from Roz's expression, but she can't decide exactly why he did it."

Lilith? Lilith Sternin called Daphne to tell her this? They're friends? How frightful.

"I've got to go," she was saying into the phone. "Yes, we've got quite a day lined up before us." She gasped. "You're terrible. You know what I mean. Call me next week and we'll do lunch."

She turned off the phone and leaned back against the sofa, still laughing. "I can't believe he told her that!"

I just watched her. "You and Lilith are friends?" I was a bit nervous. I had hoped Daphne didn't know what had happened between me and my brother's ex-wife. "Good friends?"

She looked at me, an eyebrow raised. "Yes, I know what happened." I must have looked nervous, because she continued. "I know what happened, but I don't know the details." She paused and grinned a devastatingly, heart stoppingly wicked smile. "Well, not too many of them, at any rate."

I leaned over and buried my head in my hands. "Oh, God. How embarrassing."

She looked up at me, the same sly, wicked smile gracing her face. "Oh, don't worry. You haven't a thing to be embarrassed about."

Now, what exactly did she mean by that? I cleared my throat as I sat stiffly on the couch. "And you would mean by that..."

She stood up, hitting me on the arm playfully. "I'm sure you can guess what I meant. Are you quite finished getting ready?"

I was rather speechless, but I managed to nod, and she grabbed my hand and pulled me downstairs after her, rummaged through her closet for a heavy overcoat and scarf to bundle over my grey Armani trousers, pin-striped shirt, and suspenders (yes, she hadn't even given me time to grab a suit jacket), pulled a chic long woolen trench over her own black pants and red fitted shirt, and finished the job with an adorable beret-like woolen cap and mittens.

"I feel ridiculous. Why do you get to look good when I look ridiculous?" I tried to speak around the scarf.

She rolled her eyes at me and patted my hand like I was twelve. (Is this the woman who was leering at me in such a sultry manner mere moments ago?) "The wind chill where we're going this afternoon will be well below zero. Do you want to catch your death?"

She turned abruptly, marched out the front door and pushed me into her sports coupe.

* * *

"This, Frederick, is an electron microscope." Oh, Dad, Dad, Dad. Doesn't he think that I know anything?

"I know that, Dad. So tell me about you and Roz. Are you really getting married?" I could ask now, because Grandpa and Roz had decided not to come into the science museum at all. They opted just to wait in the little coffee shop outside.

Before you say anything, no, I'm not stupid. I know they're not really getting married. Dad probably just said that to annoy Mom. It didn't work. Trust me on this one; I've tried and tried, and there's no real way to get under her skin. But it sure pissed Roz off. That was pretty funny, seeing her punching him all the way through the drive here.

So, no, I didn't believe him. But that doesn't mean I'm not gonna make him squirm. After all, when he finally has to tell me they're not engaged, if I act really, really sad, he'll do anything to cheer me up. And there's this Yale summer program that he has been very adamant about NOT sending me to because he wants me to go to some dumb program at Harvard. This could be my ticket in.

But you know, this has kind of gotten me thinking. I'm not really sure that I like even the notion of Dad and Roz getting married. I mean, I like Roz a lot, she's really fabulous (well, not like Daphne, but still...), but...

To be honest, it's sort of weird to think about either of my parents having a really serious relationship. I mean, yeah, Mom's been married again, but even that wasn't really serious. We all knew that.

And no, my hesitation wasn't because I was suffering from the misguided notion that my parents belonged together.

It's just sort of nice being the center of attention.

And if either of my parents were to have a really serious relationship, I'm – don't tell this to anyone – sort of afraid I'd be neglected.

Of course, if Dad were to get married again, I'd sort of hope it'd be Roz more than anyone. I mean, she already knows me and likes me a lot, and she's Dad's best friend, so they'd be happy.

I think she'd kill me for even thinking something like that, though, so there's probably not much cause for alarm. And with Dad's history of relationships, it's a pretty sure bet he won't be marrying anyone ELSE in the near future. Every time he gets around to telling me about a girlfriend – Kate, Samantha, and Fe were the ones he talked about most (although for some reason he kept calling Fe Cassandra when he would tell me about her toward the end) – they manage to break up within a few weeks of his telling me. No, I don't think I have much to worry about.

And Mom... she managed to scare men away as fast as they came. When I think logically about it, her attitude is understandable. I mean, even today, when the year two thousand's almost passed us by, it's still sometimes hard for career women in society. Especially career women who are also single mothers. I can understand that she has to be hard.

Daphne's working her down, though. You would know. Daphne's... Daphne's like magic. Wow.

"Um, well, Frederick, you see, our situation's quite complicated," Dad was saying. I looked up at him with what I hoped was a pitiful expression. He fumbled. I had to restrain a laugh. "What I mean, Freddie, is that it's... em..." I let out a small whimper. Oh, okay, I was weakening. I used to be so good at this! He looked at me suspiciously. "Frederick? Is there something you're not telling me?"

I plastered the pathetic look back on my face. "No, Dad, I'm really excited. I wanted to make sure that I'd understood correctly. I didn't even know that you and Roz were dating."

He looked away and said slightly mournfully, "Yes, well it was a rather hasty decision." He looked back at me, smiling slightly, as if he'd discovered a way to get around his little lie. "And as you know, Freddie, sometimes hasty decisions are bad decisions. And sometimes people change their minds when they've made a decision too fast."

I decided to ignore that, for my own purposes, and grinned and jumped up and down (I should win some kind of acting award – you know, this program at Yale is actually an acting program! shows you what Dad knows). "Will I get to be the ring bearer, Dad?"

He rolled his eyes and looked away, quite perplexed, and I wandered off to look at the genetic mutations display.

* * *

"So where are we headed?" I managed to get out through that wooly monstrosity.

Our morning had been a full one. We'd been to various department stores where she had modeled a number of incredible cocktail gowns for me which she hoped to wear to several approaching events being sponsored by Donny's firm. She let me choose several for her (!) as well as matching shoes, and we left for a marvelous little seafood house near the coast.

Our most recent excursion had been to pick out a Christmas tree. Of course, I had to wait in the car (allergies, you know), but Daphne picked out a luscious tree that looked perfect in her living room. She set it up, made us cocoa, and we began decorating. I even managed to help without breaking out in hives. Watery eyes were a small price to pay to be near her and to laugh with her.

Now, we were once again in the car.

"The coast of Scituate. The waves are gorgeous. It's where I go to think. I want you to see it."

In my ecstasy to be with her, the car ride went by in a blink, as had the whole day, and suddenly, there we were, standing on the sea wall overlooking the Atlantic. The sea was quite violent, as if a storm were brewing, and it was freezing despite the giant jacket she had equipped me with (sadly, I had too much dignity – or not enough – to let her make me pull the hood up, and I was quite certain that my vanity was causing ninety percent of my remaining body heat to escape every second), but she was right, it was mesmerizing.

She wrapped her arms around my left one and stood very close to me, her head resting on my shoulder. The wind blew at us in harsh gusts, whipping my hair back and playing with the length of hers not covered by the beret-like hat.

"What do you think of when you come here?"

She squeezed my arm a bit – unconsciously, I'm sure. "Oh, a lot of things. Nothing meaning very much anymore."

"Tell me."

She was quiet for a few moments before she whispered, "I think of you sometimes." She paused. I gulped. "And about your father and your brother. About Roz and little Alice and how big she's getting. About Seattle in general."

"You miss it?"

"Very much. But I suppose it would be hard to live anywhere so long and not miss it a bit when you left."

I turned my face toward her and took in the fragrance of her hair. It's rather nice not having to hide my actions, now that we've reached total disclosure, even as it is sad. "What... what do you think about me, when you're here?"

She sighed. "I think about how much I miss spending time with you, mostly."

"Do you –" I stopped. Was I allowed to say this? "Do you ever think about what... what it might have been like if... if you hadn't left Seattle? Between us, I mean?"

Her gaze stayed trained on the distant waves. Her cheeks were ruddy and red from the salty wind. "You mean if I hadn't've gotten married."

Ahem. I cleared my throat. "Well, er, em, yes. I guess that's what I mean."

"No."

Oh, good God. I felt my breath leaving in a rush. I tried to breathe in. It was painful. "No?"

"I try not to. I don't see any sense in my dwelling in the past. What's done is done. I've no room for regrets." I tried to nod, but it was difficult. "Donny's a good man, Niles."

"I know that," I choked out between clenched teeth.

She turned to me. "Do you, though?" She sighed. "He's good to me." Then, she leaned back from me and smiled, effectively abolishing the former subject as she reached up to run one de-mittened hand over my cheek and through my hair.

I think we made a spark.

"Oh, don't you look dashing, so rugged and windblown."

I tried to smile as I reached up and touched the ends of her hair. "Not so shabby, yourself." I paused. "Daphne, may I ask you a question? Of a personal nature?"

She nodded. "I suppose so."

"Do... do..." I took a deep breath. "Did you ever love me?"

She smiled at me. "Very much."

"How?"

She looked back toward the waves. "I try not to think about that, either."

"Well..." I was getting a bit desperate. I wanted to cry. "Well, could you think about it now? Please, Daphne, I need to know. How did you love me?"

She looked sad. She kept her eyes on the sea. "I loved you in the way you wanted me to love you."

I nodded. "Thank you."

We walked back to her car, arm in arm, and climbed in. She turned on the heater and rubbed her now mittenless hands together harshly, trying to warm up.

The radio came on. NPR. Unfortunately, they seemed to be having a little Gershwin marathon (music played by the Boston Pops, no lyrics – typical public radio), and I didn't know if I could stand hearing "They Can't Take That Away From Me" right now. I reached toward the control panels of the car and turned on the CD player. Something I didn't recognize came on.

"Daphne, what's this?"

She glanced over at me. "A British musical I've always fancied. It's called Chess."

I listened to a bit. "What's it about?"

"Oh, lots of things. Primarily a Russian chess player and his relationship with a Polish refugee named Florence during the Cold War."

As if that explained anything.

"It's quite nice, I've always thought. I saw it once in London, but America never made much of it."

I nodded and listened. The woman was singing a haunting melody about the end of an affair.

Daphne continued. "You know what I've always hated about most stories? The way there's always some purposeful resolution. I like this musical because it doesn't end happily. In fact, the ending doesn't even really make sense. But it seems more real that way."

I was rather intrigued. And I had to admit, the music was striking a chord within me. "What happens?"

"Well," she began as she drove (she loves throwing herself into deep conversations while driving, a tendency about which Dad will be the first to complain), "In the beginning, Florence works for the American chess player, who's a real git. She leaves him after he makes a fool of himself in an international chess tournament, which the Russian wins. She becomes involved with the Russian, and they fall very much in love. But it falls apart."

"Who's singing now?"

She listened. "This is Florence, but the Russian's wife is about to start up."

I nodded and listened to a bit of the lyrics. "No one in your life is with you constantly. No one is completely on your side. And though I'd move my world to be with him, still the gap between us is too wide. Looking back I could have played it differently, learned about the man before I fell, but I was ever so much younger then. Now at least I know I know him well..."

It wasn't something I would normally have enjoyed. I've always felt that catchy music greatly inhibits the quality of the performance and the story. My tastes tend to center around performances in which there is no music at all. And if a performance must have music, I prefer for the lyrics to be in Italian.

This, though, was something else. It rang with me.

The singer continued: "Didn't I know how it would go? If I knew from the start, why am I falling apart?"

Perhaps I enjoyed it because I could empathize...

"Daphne?"

She glanced over at me. "Hmmm?"

"How does it end?"

Her brow wrinkled. "Well, the Russian devotes himself entirely to the chess, which leaves little time for Florence, and she becomes very upset. His wife leaves him. He's so tense about his problems with Florence that he's not able to concentrate on his chess, and he loses his title."

"What about he and... and Florence?"

She glanced over again. "They abandon the relationship."

I sighed. "Even though they were in love?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Well, that's a little uncertain. I would guess that... that they simply knew it was the end."

We were quiet for quite awhile before I skipped the CD ahead to the final song, a duet between the Russian and Florence. "I've been a fool to allow dreams to become great expectations... You could not give me more than you gave me. Why should there be something in me still discontented? I won't look back anymore, and if I do, just for a moment... But if you hear today I'm no longer quite so devoted to affair, I've been misquoted... But we go on pretending stories like ours have happy endings..."

You might wonder how I remember the lyrics so vividly.

I'm not ashamed to say I bought the CD.

"Daphne, do you think they were right?"

I referred to Florence and the Russian and their final separation.

She was quiet for quite a long time, staring at her fingernails absently as we neared her home.

I had almost forgotten the question by the time she whispered, "Yes."

I helped her unload her purchases from the car, but we didn't say very much more that day, even through dinner with Frasier, Roz, Dad, and Donny.

The rest of the trip passed in a rush of activity that barely left us alone together at all until those last few moments in the airport.

* * *

It didn't take too much longer for Frasier to realize that Freddie knew the whole time.

Of course, I had to be the one to tell him.

Freddie'd wrapped Frasier in loops by the time we dropped him off at Lilith's that afternoon. We were just saying goodbye to him when I caught a devious little grin. I raised an eyebrow at him and pulled him aside. "Freddie, you know."

"Know what?" He tried to look innocent, but I've learned to recognize that look from my years with his Dad.

I rolled my eyes. "I know that you know. You can deny it all you want, but I still know. You may be able to fool your Dad, but you can't pull one by me, Fred-ster."

He looked almost scared.

I leaned down. "But I'll tell you what. You tell me what you're trying to get out of this, and I'll let you keep your dad squirming for a while."

He grinned and told me.

An acting class at Yale? Who knew?

We shook on it, and Frasier, Martin, and I left.

"So, honeybun, when are we going to tie the knot? What should the wedding be like? I'm going to make Daphne my matron of honor." I grinned at him and batted my eyelashes.

He grimaced. "Oh, don't you get started, too. Do you know how it's going to crush that little boy when he finds out this isn't true? He's been talking for the past few hours about being the ring-bearer!"

He looked so pathetic that I couldn't NOT tell him.

I did tell him that he had to send Freddie to his little acting program in exchange for the disclosure, though.

When we got back to Daphne's, we found that she and Niles had spent the afternoon decorating the Christmas tree, although they weren't home then. They came in a few minutes later, sort of quiet, tired, and brooding. I wondered what had happened, but they didn't mention anything about it all night, and when I asked Daphne, she shrugged it off.

The next few days passed in a rush. Between Christmas preparations and shopping (I found some adorable toys to take home to Alice) and catching up, it passed way too fast.

Before I knew it, we were all in the airport (well, minus Donny – I'd barely seen him through the whole holiday). Our seats were called, so Frasier, Martin, and I said goodbye to Daph and headed onto the boarding ramp.

I looked back, though. Actually, I peeked out from where I stood hidden just within the boarding tunnel. Niles was shuffling his feet in front of her, embarrassed, and she was blushing.

Damn. What had happened between them? I knew something was weird, but...

And that's when it happened. He stopped shuffling his feet and just stood really still, looking up at her intensely.

When he said it, it was barely over a whisper, but I've trained myself to tune into this things, you know. I AM a gossip queen. But besides my own God-given abilities (ha, ha, ha), it was the way he said it... it was so... strong. Even if I hadn't heard what he'd said, his tone and his stance and the determined set of his jaw would have sent chills down my spine.

"You could leave him, you know. I could make you happy."

She drew in a deep, shuddery breath. "You do. You do make me happy. But I can't."

He looked like he knew that was the answer that was coming, but it still pained him. "Why?" I didn't hear that. I didn't even know if she could hear it, he said it so softly, but I could tell from the movement of his lips that that's what it was.

She looked down. "Growing up in Manchester wasn't always easy. There was a lot that was hard, and there was a lot that was dark. But if we children learned anything – from Mum and Dad's difficult relationship, from Grammy Moon's stories – it's that we should never, ever give up. You take your lot and you run with it. And if you do something regrettable, you can regret it all you want, but it's yours to live with." She looked up at him. "I've done this, and it's mine to live with. And I won't give up, no matter how much I –" She sighed. "No matter how I feel."

He nodded. "I think it's time to say goodbye," he choked out.

"Yes, I think you're right."

"Thank you for... for..."

She smiled. "I know. Thank you, as well."

And then he hugged her. And then she kissed him a little longer than she should have. And then the steward announced final boarding call, and they both smiled, and he headed toward the ramp.

When he got on, I fell into step beside him. I had no idea what to say, but I couldn't let it hang. "That was brave of you, Niles."

He looked over at me, probably both surprised and not surprised to see me, and nodded. "But now it's time to move on."

This can't be the end.

It just can't be.


	3. Part III: As Time Goes By: An Interlude

**Rediscovering Daphne: A Chronicle  
****Part III: As Time Goes By (An Interlude)**

He looked at himself in the mirror. Bowtie straight, cummerbund crisp and clean, cufflinks polished. He took a deep breath, nodded at himself, and walked out of his room.

For the first time in seven months, he didn't look at her portrait reverently as he passed. For the first time in seven months, he didn't breathe in the air around it.

He glanced at the grandfather clock which sat snugly in a nook in the wall on the landing. Ten o'clock. Late, but not too late. After all, on New Year's Eve, any time of arrival before midnight was sufficient.

He hadn't planned on going to his wine club's little turn-of-the-millennium (the real millennium) soiree at all, but his brother had called not twenty minutes before from the self-same get-together demanding his presence. "Niles Crane, I refuse to allow you to pace aimlessly around that vast apartment of yours all night tonight. It's New Year's Eve. Come."

"But, Frasier –" But, what? But he'd just barely five days before received the most crushing, even if expected, blow of his life? But, even though he understood her reasoning and her motives and even agreed with them, it nonetheless left him feeling dead inside? "But, Frasier, I don't feel well."

The elder brother let out something akin to a growl over the phone. "I know why you're not here, Niles. But I will not let you do this. I'm expecting you within the hour."

And he hung up.

Niles Crane sighed and stared at the dead phone before him. And then, never having been one to disobey or disappoint his older brother, he walked to his room to change.

Now, he walked into the small ballroom of Timothy Vanderberg's home to be greeted immediately by harsh lights, the roar of various and sundry discussions all taking place throughout the room simultaneously and echoing and resounding against the domed ceiling, the soothing lull of the quartet in a far corner of the room, and his brother's firm grip on his arm. "Niles, come."

He obediently followed Frasier to the bar. He hoped there was something stronger than wine, tonight.

Frasier Crane sat with his brother as they sipped vodka martinis. "Niles, you've got to find a way past this."

Niles looked up sharply. "I am past it, Frasier. It simply takes time to heal completely."

Frasier sighed. "Then how can you tell me you're past it?"

Niles looked down at the olive in his glass as he swirled the drink absently. "I've realized that it's time for me to move on."

He stood, then, finishing off the last of his martini, and made his way across the chamber, sans his brother. He glanced briefly at the string quartet in the corner of the room, but briefly is enough time to lose one's way, and he found himself running directly into another guest. He turned toward her to apologize –

She looked up at him, recognition and recollection passing over her. "Niles?"

"Mel?"

* * *

"You know, Daphne," Doctor Lilith Sternin began in her stiff monotone as she walked around her friend's upstairs studio. "These paintings really are extraordinary. I haven't had a good chance to look at them before now."

Daphne burrowed herself into an even tighter ball in the corner of her couch, Sebastian snuggled against her.

Usually these conversations took place at Lilith's townhouse. This afternoon, though, Daphne had called her friend in the middle of dinner preparations, and, not being able to leave easily, she had asked Lilith to drive to Hingham.

"I think she's avoiding my calls. I don't know why, Lilith, but it hurts. She must know what happened between me and Niles."

Lilith sighed, not looking away from the almost-completed portrait of Roz and Alice. "It's only been two weeks, Daphne. You don't have cause for alarm just yet. Perhaps she has simply been unable to find the time to return your call." She paused. "Daphne, I have an entirely unrelated proposition for you."

Daphne glanced up. There were tear-tracks along her cheeks, although one wouldn't have been able to tell from her voice that she had been crying. "What's that?"

Lilith leaned back, taking in the other artwork in the room. "Daphne, I have a colleague – a fellow psychiatrist with an adjoining office, actually – who is trying to find someone to paint her daughter's portrait." She glanced over at Daphne. "She'd pay you well. Very well. She's very wealthy. I've heard her mentioning figures in the thousands."

Daphne sat up straighter, taken aback. "What? But I've..."

Lilith smiled. "Oh, come on, Daphne. You've sold your art before."

Her friends frowned. "Well, yes, but not really. I've donated pieces for charity functions around Hingham, and I make a couple hundred dollars a piece doing paintings for the neighbors, like the one I did of Missus Friedlander's cat, but, Lilith –"

"You could do this, Daphne. I'd give her my highest recommendation of you. And it would give you something else to think about other than Roz Doyle not returning your phone call." Daphne was weakening, and she could tell. "Daphne, you know how I've been telling you you need something like this. You need to get your mind off everything – off Roz, off Niles. Maybe this is what we've been looking for. Something to relieve that insomnia. If you made a career of this, Daphne..." She glanced back at the painting. "You could go a long way."

Daphne stood up and walked beside Lilith, looking at her painting. "Thousands, you say?" She paused. "Oh, Lilith, I'm sure she's looking for someone better than me."

Lilith shook her head. "That's your problem, Daphne. You tend to sell yourself short. No, I think she'd be hard pressed to find anyone better than you." She glanced at her friend, a glint in her eye. "Can I give her your number?"

A deep breath. And then a smile. "All right, then. Yes. Do it."

* * *

Roz Doyle glanced up from the toddler in her lap to the phone ringing beside her couch – glanced up but didn't reach for it, didn't want to take the chance that it might be Daphne Douglas.

So she let the machine pick it up. "Hey, this is Roz. I can't get to the phone for reasons you might not like to know, but if you leave a message, I'll think about getting back to ya."

Beep. The shrill noise resounded seemingly deafeningly through the small apartment, where the bed, the stove, the couch, and the TV were all in the same room, for "convenience's" sake, where everything was a bit too confined and a bit too quiet, where visitors, the kind that stayed more than one night (or stayed at all once they saw her daughter) were a rarity.

"Roz? Roz?" His voice echoed as hers had over the machine and throughout the apartment. "Are you screening your calls? I know you're home, Roz."

She sighed and picked up the phone. "Hi, Frasier."

He sounded indignant. "Why are you doing this?"

She shook her head and leaned back in the couch, holding her baby to her. "Doing what, Frasier?"

He huffed as if she should have been able to pinpoint precisely to what he was referring.

Which, in fact, she could.

"This little disappearing act. Screening your calls, avoiding Cafe Nervosa, practically ignoring me even at work, et cetera. You might think you're fooling us, but I'll have you know that I know exactly who you're avoiding."

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "So, who am I avoiding, Frasier?"

She could imagine him standing up haughtily. "You're avoiding me. You've been avoiding me for a month. Because of what happened with Lilith and Frederick."

"Guess again, genius. Why on earth would I have picked up the phone if I was screening you?"

He sounded a bit deflated. "Oh." It made her grin, though, which she hadn't done all week. Frasier Crane, classic egomaniac. "Well then..." Now, he sounded timid. "Who?"

She sighed and rocked her daughter a bit as the little one began to whimper softly. And wiggle. "I suppose I might as well tell you. It's Daphne."

He sounded confused. "Daphne?"

"Because of what's been happening with Niles."

Because I feel like I'm being forced to take sides, she thought to herself. And I'm not sure whose side I'd choose.

"Why don't you come over, Frasier?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, come on up."

The line went dead. Almost simultaneously, there was a knock on her door. She stood up, baby cradled high on her hip, and walked to the door. Opened it. "You're as bad as your brother, you know."

He sighed and walked in, hands stuffed deep within the pockets of his dark trenchcoat.

"Make yourself at home. Mi casa es su casa and all that."

He sunk down into her sofa, and she sat down beside him. "What is it, Roz? Something happened between them that I don't know about. Tell me."

She gazed up at him solemnly. "He asked her to leave Donny for him."

She laughed to herself, then. She didn't think she'd ever seen anyone stand that fast before. For someone so close to fifty, that was pretty good. He paced a line in her carpet. "He what? How could he?" He stopped, then, and looked to her. "Then why are you avoiding Daphne?"

She leaned her head back against the couch. "Because she should have said yes."

Now, again, he looked nonplused. "What? I'm afraid I don't understand, Roz."

"Look," she said matter-of-factly, as if laying out a plan for him. "She loves him. And as of now, she's unhappy. He adores her and would give her everything. Everything she ever wanted. And he could make her happy..." She paused, realizing that she was reflecting Niles' very own words to Daphne. She shook her head. "She just should have said yes. She owes it to him to be honest with him and with herself."

Frasier sat back on the couch solemnly. "How do you know all this, Roz?"

"I heard them."

"What did she say?"

"She said that she couldn't."

"Because she didn't love him?"

"No. Because she couldn't."

He took a deep breath. "And why can't you talk to her about this?"

She shook her head, stood, and lifted the now-sleeping Alice, preparing to carry her to the crib which was getting entirely too small for the growing bundle of joy. "Because I can't, Frasier. Because there's this... this rift now, between them, and I know about it. And to talk to her about it would be like taking sides. And, Frasier, honestly –" She paused, looking up at her friend pleadingly. "Honestly, I'd take his."

The solemn, contemplative expression never left his face. "You two are growing closer, aren't you?"

She smiled slightly. "I guess you could say that. Although you might want to check to see if hell's frozen over before you do."

She came back to sit by him. "Has he told you about Mel?"

"Miss X-ray vision? What about her? She's such a snore, I'm glad he dumped her."

"They're seeing more of each other, now. Since our wine club New Year's party two weeks ago."

She glanced over at him. "No. You're kidding. They're dating?"

"Not dating, precisely." He cocked his head to the side, as if pondering what exactly his brother and his ex-fiance WERE doing. "Simply seeing more of each other. They shared a quite innocent kiss at midnight when we saw the New Year in, and he's been meeting her for lunch occasionally. He won't tell me a thing about it. He won't tell me much at all, to be perfectly honest."

"What about Daphne?"

He glanced over, surprised. "What about Daphne?"

"How is she?"

Looking down guiltily, he admitted, "To be honest, Roz, I haven't talked to her, either."

"What?"

"She hasn't called. I've tried to call her a couple times. No answer."

The couple sat quietly on the couch for quite a while. To some, such silence might be uncomfortable. To these, the best of friends, little could bring discomfort, aside from Frasier's occasional embarrassing slip-of-tongue. Finally, Frasier looked up at Roz, a sly smile on his face. "But, Roz, really. What DID you think of my little lie to Lilith?"

She turned to him, the beginnings of a grin on her face. "I thought you had officially gone insane."

He leaned back, shaking his head. "Well, you know, Roz, it wasn't that much of a stretch. After all, we DO have that pact..."

"No good." She shook her head and had to hold back a laugh when he looked distraught.

"What do you mean?"

Her smile was as sly as his had been. "Well, Frasier, it does hold up what you told Lilith, but you'll remember that pact was double-sided."

He smiled in recollection. "Ah, too true. So, Roz, as soon as we get married, we'll have to kill each other."

"If I haven't died from my delirious happiness first," she replied with the good-natured sarcasm which was so typical of her. She paused. "What about some dinner, Frasier?

He nodded and stood, offering her his hand. "It would be my pleasure."

* * *

Daphne Douglas began work on the first portrait commisioned by someone outside of her own small neighborhood shortly thereafter. The woman's daughter was around six, a delightful girl with long blond ringlets.

And true to Lilith's word, the woman, Marjorie Stanfield, was wealthy and paid well. Very well.

Doctor Stanfield, a tight, blonde woman in her late thirties, arrived at the Douglas' home late one afternoon in March to collect the finished product. Daphne, in the middle of cooking dinner, welcomed to woman and went fetch the painting for its unveiling.

She had been deathly nervous all day and was no better now that time had finally arrived. She rubbed her hands together as she anxiously ascended the stairs to her studio. The thoughts that flew through her head were assorted and disjointed. The most prevelant was a nagging worry: What if it's not good enough?

She gazed at the painting on the easel. She had thrown herself into it with an ardor she had seldom experienced, and she was satisfied with the result. It was a bit untamed, slightly Impressionistic in nature. Utterly her own.

Of course, she rationalized, it helped that the little girl had been simply beautiful.

She carried the painting downstairs slowly, holding her breath.

"Well," she looked down shyly as she entered the living room, "This is it." She handed the large painting almost timidly to the doctor. "If you don't like anything about it –"

Doctor Stanfield took in a breath. "This is exquisite. It's wonderful. I adore it."

For the first time all day, Daphne allowed herself to smile. "You do?" Disbelieving.

The woman looked up from the painting, her face lit with a smile. "I do. I believe we agreed on three thousand?"

Daphne nodded, in a daze.

The woman wrote out a cheque, handed it to Daphne, and smiled again. "You can trust that my friends – and my husband's friends – will know about you. You can't hide out here forever, not with a talent like this."

She grinned, then. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Thank YOU, Miss Moon."

Daphne opened her mouth to correct her. "It's... it's my pleasure, Doctor Stanfield. Enjoy the painting."

She ushered her out and walked back into the house slowly, sitting down on the living room couch, Sebastian snuggled beside her. Only then did she look at the cheque.

Pay to the order of Daphne Moon.

Daphne Moon? Who was Daphne Moon? Did Daphne Moon still exist?

Footsteps resounded in the hall. "Honey?"

She glanced up. "Oh, Donny, I didn't hear you come in."

He smiled. "Who just drove away?"

Her eyes widened.

Did Daphne Moon still exist?

Yes, she existed. And she was entirely her own. She was free.

Daphne Moon folded the cheque in two and pushed it into her pants pocket. "Oh, someone from the gardening club. She dropped by to pick up some flowers."

Donny Douglas nodded absently and sniffed the air. "What's that great smell, Daph? Roast beef?"

Daphne Douglas smiled. "Your favorite."

* * *

She stared at the plate in front of her as she stirred her food around absently. There was something tickling the back of her mind, something about which she would have spoken to Roz if she and Roz had managed to have a serious conversation sometime in the recent past. She had heard from her friend in April, but the call had only been for the purpose of notifying Daphne that the portrait of Roz and Alice had arrived, that she was incredibly thankful, but that Frasier had claimed it for his study, which he was finally redecorating from its former life as Daphne's bedroom, as which it had sat vacant for eight months after her departure. But still, in the call, she detected a note of impatience, as if Roz was not entirely happy to be talking to her at all. She had ended the call quickly, and they hadn't spoken since.

With Roz's lack of communicative skills, at least in recent months, since her Christmas visit, Daphne Douglas was running low on confidantes. She still spoke to Martin Crane at least once or twice a week, but he wasn't someone she could talk to about this. And Lilith Sternin, the newest addition to her list of friends, had been away for a convention for several weeks. Little Freddie, who had been staying with Daphne and Donny Douglas over the duration (much to Freddie's glee – to be able to tell all the boys at school he was spending the night at the house of the angel whose photo adorned his wallet!), did not qualify as someone to whom Daphne could pour her heart, especially considering the fact that the poor boy himself was liable to faint if she said more than twenty words to him at a time.

She glanced up at her husband, who sat across the table from her reading this morning's Wall Street Journal. Freddie's abandoned plate sat at the third place setting at the table. Daphne had released him in minutes previous to go do his homework (though, no doubt, instead he was playing the ridiculous video game which was currently the rave among all the boys – and some of the girls – in his sixth grade class at the Marbury Academy).

"Donny?" The question was timid, timorous.

Her husband didn't look up from his paper, merely raised his eyebrows in inquiry. "Yeah, honey?"

She wrung her hands together under the table. "Donny, there's something I'd like to talk to you about."

Something in her voice did make him finally look up, and he smiled that goofy grin she'd fallen for two years before. "Shoot, Daph. I'm all ears."

She looked down. "Donny, I've been thinking a lot about this, and... and..." She looked up at him. "Donny, I want for us to try to have children."

He grinned kiddingly. "Now, Daph? Well, we ARE in the kitchen, but..."

She smiled and swatted in his direction. "You silly man, not NOW. But..." She grew serious. "Well, now. Yes."

His smile dropped. "Daph, don't start this now. Not again. You know we can't. You know how stressed I am with the job and all. I'm working all the time to try to get in the contending to become a partner for the big promotion at the end of the year. And right now, I've got a whole line of tough cases in front of me. I've got more work than I've ever had before, enough to last years."

"But, Donny –"

He stood abruptly. "No, Daph. I'm gonna have to put my foot down on this one. You keep bringing this up, but we can't. If we were to have a kid, you'd expect me to put in my share in the responsibilities, and I don't have time to do that right now. Right now, the job comes first."

Yes, she knew that. For all the good times she had with her husband, there were five times when the job was coming first and the same amount of fights because of it.

But this time was different.

This was about a baby. About Daphne Douglas's longing to become a mother.

"But, DONNY –"

"No, Daph. I can't listen to this right now. I have work to do."

He went to his study, shutting the door behind him. Loudly. The sound made her start in her chair.

She slumped down, pushing her barely touched dinner plate away from her. Her head hurt. Her stomach hurt. She wanted to cry but couldn't.

"But, Donny," she whispered. "I'll be forty years old in September. How much longer do I have to wait?"

When the thought hit her, she sat up straight.

What if... it wasn't that Donny didn't want children now. What if he didn't want children at all?

The thought brought on a fresh wave of grief, and she quickly reached for the phone and dialed a familiar number.

"Hey, this is Roz. I can't get to the phone for reasons you might not like to know, but if you leave a message, I'll think about getting back to ya."

She hung up.

And dialed another familiar number which she hadn't dialed in a year. Maybe more.

"Hello?"

At the sound of a woman's voice, a voice which sounded vaguely familiar, her breath caught short.

"Hello? Hello?"

And then Niles' voice in the background. "Mel, who is it?"

Daphne closed her eyes and held her breath, but the masochist in her wouldn't let her hang up the phone. "I don't know. I think it's a prank call. They're not saying anything."

"Oh, well, come along. Our reservations won't wait forever."

She turned the phone off, then, and slumped against the side of the island in the middle of her kitchen, falling down it until she was on the ground, heaving dry sobs.

Had it been just six months ago that he told her he loved her?

Sebastian, big, white, furry Sebastian, trotted up then and curled up beside her, licking her face. She smiled. "Oh, you. You, darling. What would I do without you, love?"

She walked up the stairs, ducked into the bathroom to make sure she didn't look too terribly upset, and then poked her head into Freddie's room. Sure enough, he sat in front of his video game, ripping the controller from side to side almost violently. At the sound of the door, he looked up guiltily, his brown hair flopping in his face.

"Have you finished your homework, quite yet, my little man?"

He nodded dumbly. "Uh-huh."

"How would you like to watch a film with me tonight? Your pick."

His eyes lit up. "Can we watch 'Night of the Living Dead'?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "I'm sure your father and mother would prefer for you to watch a documentary or... or... I've got Kenneth Branagh's Henry the Fifth in the VCR..." He looked up pleadingly. She was weakening. "Oh, all right. Bring it down."

She smiled as Frasier Crane's only son rummaged through his bags, pulled out the worn video, and ran ahead of her down to the living room.

Perhaps it wouldn't be a terrible night, after all. Perhaps it could be salvaged. Perhaps the events before now could be forgotten, blocked from her mind.

"They are coming to get you, Barbara..." She managed a grin. A cheesy horror film with her favorite eleven year old in the world. Perhaps it could tide her over until she could talk to the boy's mother about the events surrounding dinner.

* * *

Doctor Frasier Crane sighed and looked at his brother, who was sitting beside him on his sofa at his home, apartment 1901 of the Elliot Bay Towers. He sipped his sherry. "I simply don't understand this relationship, Niles. This is a woman you've dated previously, even asked to marry you. You see her all the time, go to dinner, yet you're not dating?"

Doctor Crane's younger brother, that OTHER Doctor Crane, shook his head and sighed. "No. I'm not ready for that, yet."

Frasier stood to refill his sherry glass. "Niles, as much as you hate to be reminded of this, it's been the better part of a year since we saw Daphne. We've barely exchanged words with her in the last year, and it has everything to do with what happened between you. Roz doesn't feel comfortable talking to Daphne while you're still hurting because she thinks it would be unfair to you. Daphne barely calls here at all because she finds it awkward. For God's sake, man, do you really think all of this is fair to her? The sooner you move on, the sooner everything will go back to normal, the sooner the woman I love as I would a sister will start speaking more than a sentence a month to me, the sooner Roz will have her best friend back."

The younger brother swallowed the last of his sherry. "I thought you were her best friend."

And the elder was taken aback, as he so often tends to be. "I... well... yes... well... she is."

"After all, why else would she have told you what happened between Daphne and myself?"

Frasier sighed. "Are we back to this again? She was worried about you. She was worried about Daphne. I was worried about Daphne. Roz and I just ended up in a long discussion about her, and it slipped in. She didn't mean anything by it, Niles."

It so happened that, although Frasier Crane had known about his brother's final plea to Mrs. Donald Ronald Douglas for half a year, the brother who had made the desperate request had only found out about Frasier's knowledge a week hence.

"I think I've a right to be mad."

Frasier rolled his eyes. "Yes, Niles, you think you've 'a right' to do anything."

"It's been nine months, Frasier."

"What?"

"Nine months. It's been nine months since we saw her in Boston."

"Nine months..." It finally hit him. "Oh, my God. Her birthday was yesterday."

Niles nodded succinctly. "Her fortieth."

"Her fortieth birthday... Good God, Niles. Daphne's forty."

Frasier paused, and when he began again, his tone was somber. "Niles, may I ask you a question?"

"I suppose."

"Daphne's self-portrait. You've never moved it since she gave it to you. What does Mel say about it?"

He hadn't been expecting that question. "Well... we've never discussed it. She tried to ask once, but I told her I'd prefer not to talk about it. We don't talk about Daphne."

Frasier made his way carefully back to his brother's side. "Niles, I don't say this often enough, but it's something I've come to believe in the past year, what with how supportive she's been of you. I know none of us liked her a year ago, but Niles... She's a good woman. She'd be good for you."

Niles nodded, leaning forward, looking down at his empty sherry glass. "I know she is, Frasier."

"But your feelings for Daphne are holding you back." Frasier paused. "Perhaps if you discussed Daphne with Mel, you'd be able to move on."

Niles shook his head. "You don't understand, Frasier. We aren't dating now, and we won't be dating six months from that. She's just a dear friend. She's been wonderful throughout all of this, but we both know it wouldn't work a second time around."

Frasier wrinkled her brow. "Niles, are you... are you sure she knows that? You're not young, Niles, and neither is she. If there's to be no future between you, you owe her the freedom to get on with her life."

Niles took a deep breath and stood up, as if resolved. "Yes, you're right, Frasier. Perhaps we should have a discussion about what exactly it is that we have."

"Yes, Niles. Perhaps you should."

Later, Niles Crane sat on his fainting couch, dressed in black tie, staring ahead aimlessly, when the doorbell rang. "It's open, Mel."

She walked in, smiling brightly, until she saw his expression. "What is it, Niles? Are you ready for the charity benefit?"

He looked up at her. Her black hair, which had grown longer since the first time they dated, was barretted back in dainty clips. Her lavender, floor-length gown was finished with a matching, gossamer veil. "I had some things on my mind. That I'd like to talk to you about."

She sat down beside him, placing a hand on his knee. "What is it, Niles? We can be late."

He leaned back, his jacket bunching in the process. "Mel, what exactly do we have?"

She looked confused. "We have a very good friendship, Niles. A friendship I treasure. What's this about?"

"Mel..." He paused nervously. "Mel, I've got to admit something to you. I hadn't really looked at this as going farther than that."

She sat up straight and removed her hand from her knee, bristling slightly. "Oh."

He turned toward her. "I don't know why it never occurred to me that you did want more. I do love you, Mel. I value our friendship in ways you couldn't imagine. But that's all I want from you. Our friendship."

She slumped down a bit. "Well, I must admit, Niles, that I had hoped otherwise. But I'm... I'm glad you told me." She glanced up at him. "And if you're worried, don't be. This doesn't change anything about our friendship. Now, are you ready to go?"

"One more thing. Do you remember when you asked me about Daphne's self-portrait?"

She nodded slowly.

"I'm ready to tell you about it, if you're ready to hear."

She smiled and leaned back against the fainting couch. "I'd love to."

He took a deep breath. "Well, it all started eight and a half years ago, when I offered to help Frasier pay for a physical therapist for Dad..."

* * *

He'd been oddly tense and silent through dinner. Finally, he spoke.

"Daphne, what's this?"

She glanced across the table at the envelope in his hand and blanched. "Where did you get that?"

"It came in the mail today." He pulled out the bank statement from the envelope displaying the insignia of Bank Boston across it's face. "I don't understand, Daphne." He took a deep breath, as if to control his temper. "Please, explain."

She took a deep breath and put down her fork. "You knew I was being commissioned for portrait work."

He looked up sharply. "I knew that you were making a couple hundred here and there drawing Mrs. Friedlander's cats. Daphne –" He glanced back down at the statement. "These deposits are in the thousands. What does this mean, Daphne?"

Another deep breath. "It means that people value my work. That people come to me and ask me to capture their precious moments on canvas. That I'm happy to oblige. It doesn't mean anything."

He swallowed; his teeth were clenched slightly. "Daphne, I was at a client's house today. She had commissioned you to do a portrait of her son."

She didn't know how to reply. "Oh."

"Daphne, when I asked about it, she told me that Daphne Moon had painted it. Why would she tell me that, Daphne?"

Daphne shook her head violently and stood. "Donny, you're the one who doesn't want your friends to know about my pasttime. You're the one who doesn't want them to know how odd it is that I do this. Am I supposed to sign my paintings with your name?"

He stood, facing her, his face red. "You're supposed to tell me what you're doing. You're not supposed to be making four and five thousand dollars per painting without telling me. I had no idea, Daphne. Do you know how embarrassed I was today, Daphne? That I didn't know that my own wife had painted the portrait hanging in my own client's living room?"

He was yelling.

Daphne cringed. Sebastian barked.

"Get the damn dog out here!"

"There's something else, Donny. What else?"

He held the bank slip in the air. "Why do you need this much money, Daphne? In a separate bank account that I didn't know about?"

She shuddered, her eyes tearing up. "You make me sound as though I were plotting something terrible."

He raised his eyebrows. "Are you?"

"No! You don't like it that I paint, so I didn't tell you! That's all!"

He shook his head, threw the bank slip on the table, and withdrew to his study in silence, leaving a defeated Daphne to cry over the dinner table.

Inside his study, he sunk into his soft leather couch.

It wasn't that she was painting.

It wasn't that she was making money.

It wasn't even that she used her maiden name.

It was the combination of factors, all of which served to remind him of one simple thing.

She would never truly be his.

* * *

"We had another fight."

Lilith Sternin sighed and glanced at the clock beside her bed. One-thirty in the morning. At least she didn't have to worry about Frederick waking up; he was in Seattle for Christmas.

"Where are you, Daphne?"

"Driving with Sebastian."

"All right. Calm down, pull over, and tell me about it."

Daphne breathed in a shuddering breath and was quiet for a while as, Lilith assumed, she found a place to park her car. "I told you we were going to a Christmas afternoon brunch at the home of one of the partners in Donny's firm."

There was a pause, and Lilith assumed Daphne wanted some kind of confirmation. "Yes. You did. About five times."

"We came home, and he didn't say anything to me all evening. So I knew something was wrong." Lilith heard her choke back a sob. "I didn't know what I'd done wrong, until finally he told me that he'd been embarrassed because I'd told a story about Billy." Another sob. "I know what you're thinking, but it's not that he doesn't like them. He does. But it embarrasses him when other people hear them. And I know he's right. It's eccentric. My past is pretty odd." She sighed. "But I wasn't thinking straight, and I blew up at him. About how he was trying to change me. About how he never considers what I want or need."

Lilith sat up, assuming her role as Daphne Douglas's unofficial therapist. "And what do you mean by that, Daphne?"

"Don't you dare do that, Lilith. I need the advice of a friend, not a psychiatrist."

"All right. Why do you think you blew up at him, Daphne? You never stand up for yourself around him."

She heard another sigh through the phone. "Well, you know how upset I've been about him refusing for us to have a baby."

"But there's something else, Daphne. You've been upset about this for months, but you haven't taken it out on him. Unless it's all simply built up to a point at which you have no choice but to react." She paused. "What was going through your mind, Daphne?"

"Honestly?"

"Of course."

"I was remembering what Doctor Crane – Niles – told me last Christmas. That I was changing. That I was becoming demure." She paused. "I'm afraid I'm losing myself. Do you think I've changed, Lilith?"

Lilith stood up and walked downstairs to make a cup of coffee. It was clear that she wouldn't be getting back to sleep. "Yes, Daphne, I do. Not entirely... I think you revert when you're over here. And when we go out. And when you talk about England or about Seattle. But when you're around him – yes, you're different." She paused. "Does Donny know you're gone, Daphne?"

"I don't think so. After the fight, I went to my studio, and I didn't leave for another hour or so."

"What are you going to do? Are you going back, or would you like to come over here?"

She sighed heavily. "Would you mind if I came over? I have Sebastian with me."

"Please, Daphne, come. Hang up the phone, wait to calm down a bit more, come over, talk to me a while, and take the guest room. Stay as long as you need."

"Thank you, Lilith. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here."

Lilith sighed. Sometimes, she wondered. But then again, there was many a time when Lilith herself would have been lost without Daphne's own pragmatic advice. She smiled; Daphne was currently in the process of giving Lilith what she called an "attitude make-over." The idea was to create in her friend a freer person.

She had to admit she liked it.

Daphne arrived close to two, and for a couple hours, the two women sat in Lilith's living room, talking and laughing and sipping wine.

But Daphne was home again the next day in time to cook dinner and to apologize to Donny for her outburst and subsequent erratic behavior. Of course he forgave her; any action of Daphne's, although some bore critique and correction, was forgivable in his eyes.

It would be some time before Daphne ceased apologizing.

* * *

"Does it strike you as sad that the only thing either of us has to do on this beautiful Valentine's Day is watch this tacky miniseries?"

Roz, watching the television intently, waved at Frasier, who was seated beside her on the couch in her apartment, attempting to silence him.

It didn't work. "So, Roz, tell me. I'm curious. Why don't you have a date? You never just don't have a date on Valentine's Day."

She sighed and looked over at him, realizing she wouldn't be watching any more of her program.

"Believe it or not, Frasier, I didn't really try too hard for one this year."

That was when Alice May Doyle started crying. Roz went to stand, but Frasier stopped her. "Don't worry. I'll get her."

He walked to the little girl's bed and sat down beside her. "What's wrong, Alice?"

The little girl sat up and rubbed her eyes, long auburn hair falling in her face.

She hadn't gotten Rick's nose. Nor had she gotten Roz's ears and eyes.

To Roz, and to Frasier, she was perfect.

"Bad dweam."

"Do you want to come over and sit with your mom and me?"

The little girl sat up, crossed her arms in front of her, and shook her head petulantly. "No. You stay here, Daddy."

He did as he was bid, holding the little girl until she went to sleep.

Roz watched from her place on the couch, smiling slightly. "You're so good with her, Frasier."

He looked up, surprised. "Oh, I don't know. No better than anyone else."

Roz rolled her eyes. "Yeah, she calls everyone Daddy."

It was a habit little Alice had had ever since she started to talk. Her first word, much to her mother's delight, was "Ma." Her second word, much to everyone's surprise, was "Da," which she said determinedly while pointing up at Frasier (Alice May Doyle was nothing if not determined). And as much as Roz had tried to assure her in the beginning that no, Frasier wasn't her daddy, the thought seemed to upset the child more than anything else. Finally, a couple months before, Roz had sat Alice down and had the conversation:

"Alice, honey, I need you to understand something. Frasier's not your daddy."

Alice looked up at her mother in a childish version of exasperation. "I know dat."

Roz had been almost surprised. "You do?"

"Uh huh." She looked back at her Legos, concentrating on building the most massive structure known to man.

"Alice, honey, then why do you call him Daddy?"

Alice looked up again at her mommy and pouted. "All my fwends at nursey school have daddies. I want a daddy."

Roz looked at her daughter tenderly. "So you wanted to think of Frasier as your daddy?"

The child shook her head and grinned. "No, I wanted my fwends to think he was my daddy."

"Oh," Roz replied, amused and perplexed at once. "All right then. So you know that he's not. That's taken care of."

"Can I still call him Daddy?"

Roz shrugged. "Yeah, you can."

And she hadn't stopped.

Frasier shook his head as he walked back toward Roz's couch. "I can't believe she's almost four, Roz. She's growing so fast."

"Yeah. May twelfth, nineteen ninety-eight. The night of that weird singles party you tried to throw, Frasier."

He slumped down on the couch. "That was not my fault. It was Dad's idea."

She grinned. "Oh, yeah, the Marty party. I don't think I'll ever forget the sight of brown goo dripping down his forehead. Oh, good Lord."

The two looked down for a moment, smiling. Finally, Frasier looked back over at her. "We've had some interesting times, haven't we, Roz?"

"Yeah, we have, Frasier." She paused. "You know, nine days after Alice's birthday is the anniversary of our show, Frasier. May twenty-first. It'll be nine years, this year."

"Nine years. Wow. That something to toast." He lifted his almost-forgotten glass to hers. "Roz?"

"What is it?"

"Do you remember that night a couple years ago, at the broadcaster's conference?"

She looked down to the glass of wine in her hand. "Yeah, Frasier. I remember it."

When he next spoke, his voice sounded almost timid. "Do you ever think about that night?"

She raised her eyes to his. "Sometimes, Frasier. Sometimes."

He didn't push the subject, merely poured both of them another glass of wine.

But she had conceded, if only that much.

Baby steps.

* * *

"All I'm saying is that you should go out with someone, is all," Roz Doyle told him over coffee as they sat together in Cafe Nervosa. "I mean, there are probably women out there who would be glad to go out with you." She looked around. "Somewhere."

Niles Crane sighed. "Oh, I don't know, Roz."

Roz slapped the top of the small table at which they sat in frustration, effectively spilling her coffee. She looked down in annoyance and started swiping the table with her napkin. "Look, Niles, it's been a year and a half. Have some fun for once in your life. I mean, it's fine and good to spend time with Mel, but you've made it pretty clear to her you don't want THAT to go anywhere. Besides, isn't she spending most of her time with that hot shot lawyer whose nose she fixed?"

Niles glared at her. "Yes, Roz, thanks."

She shrugged. "Fine. Don't listen to me. But I'm telling you, you should get out there. Like..." She glanced around them. "Watch. Do you think she's hot?" She pointed over at a woman sitting in the corner of the cafe.

Niles rolled his eyes. "Well, replace the word 'hot' with something a bit more tasteful, and I'd have to say yes. Her name is Andrea Gilman. Her former husband is in my wine club."

Roz grinned. "So she's divorced?"

He lifted his coffee and took a sip. "Yes." Suddenly, her intentions dawned on him. "Oh, no, Roz. Don't do that."

Too late. She was up and walking toward the woman before he could stop her.

"Hi there."

The woman – blond and thin with hazel eyes and expensive clothing – glanced up. "Yes?"

"I think we met at a party a little while ago. The... the... the theatre benefit! Aren't you Andrea?"

The woman smiled. "I'm sorry to say I can't remember your name."

Roz smiled. "Roz. I'm sitting with Niles Crane. Would you like to join us?"

And so, before Niles could say "Freudian slip," Roz was walking back to the table, Ms. Gilman in tow. As soon as she'd seated herself, though, she glanced down at her (nonexistent) watch. "Oh, look at the time! I've just remembered that there's this... this... place I have to be." She stood. "Nice to see you again, Andrea. Niles, I'll see YOU later."

Niles, flushed and nervous, glanced around, eyes finally landing on Roz's untouched snack. He glanced up hopefully. "Biscotti?"

* * *

"How about dinner tonight, Niles?"

Frasier Crane's brother looked up from his place on the couch. "Oh, actually, I've got a date, Frasier. Rain check, perhaps."

Frasier rolled his eyes. "You have a date EVERY night. And they tend to all be with different women."

Niles glared up at him from his sherry. "Your point being?"

"And you've had sex with nearly all of them, Niles! Can't you see how unlike you such behavior is?"

The younger Crane huffed. "So now I'm chastised for being more like you, big brother. And besides, it was YOUR friend, YOUR potential romantic interest, Roz, who advised me to 'behave' this way months ago! If you don't respect her opinion, how do you expect to be able to have a relationship with her?"

Frasier frowned down at his brother. "Of course I respect her opinion. But it seems at though she most likely meant, 'Date with the intention of finding someone and settling down,' not 'Date with wild abandon any and every woman who comes your way.' My God, Niles, have you been through every social circle in Seattle yet?"

Niles looked down at his sherry glass again, avoiding Frasier's eyes.

"Niles, may I ask you a question?"

"I suppose, Frasier."

"In all of this, you demonstrate a refusal to make a commitment. Granted, you're committed to Mel and have been for some time, but not in a romantic way. And, regardless, she's engaged to that lawyer now. Niles, this evasion from commitment..."

He paused. Niles grew impatient as he swirled his sherry distractedly and answered sharply, "Yes, Frasier, what are you implying?"

Frasier's hands flew to his hips in indignation. "I am IMPLYING that you offered Daphne a commitment two years ago and now are incapable of offering anyone else the same commitment because to do so, in your eyes, would be an insult to what you feel – what you felt – for Daphne. I am IMPLYING, Niles, that you are still waiting for her. And I am IMPLYING that you shouldn't."

But by the time he had finished his brief tirade, Niles, teeth clenched, had collected his coat from the coat rack and was almost out the door. "I don't have to listen to this, Frasier. Goodnight."

Frasier sighed. "Niles, wait."

The brother paused, hand poised on the knob. "What?"

"Niles, how should I ask Roz?"

Niles turned slightly. "Tell her the truth, Frasier. Tell her that your relationship with her is the best you've ever had with a woman, all ten years of it. Tell her that she knows you better than anyone on earth, and that she makes you happy. Tell her that you've never been so close to anyone. Tell her that you love her and you want to take a chance. And see what she says."

Frasier nodded. "Does it seem strange to you, Niles, that our places seem reversed?" He paused. "Have a good night, Niles."

The younger Crane nodded, a touch of sadness in his face. "You, too, brother."

* * *

"So you're still not sleeping with him?" Lilith Sternin asked her dinner companion.

Daphne Douglas sighed. "No, I've been sleeping in my studio."

Lilith nodded succinctly. "Although I meant sex, I suppose you've killed two birds with that stone."

"Oh, I don't know what to do, Lilith." Daphne lowered her head to her hands, nearly knocking over the glass of wine in front of her into the meal she'd hardly touched.

"Hey, be careful there," her companion admonished as she deftly moved the glass. "Well, the first thing you can do is eat. You know the routine. C'mon. Finish that." She paused. "What do you think you should do?"

The waiter chose that moment to approach. "More wine, ladies?" Lilith Sternin's death stare scared him off quickly.

Daphne shook her head. "I just don't know. All I can think about is how much I want children and how he refuses to give me that. It's becoming something like a physical pain. My so-called biological clock is ticking down, and I can almost feel it. Lord, I'm forty-one, Lilith."

Lilith sighed. "I don't know what to tell you, Daphne." She paused. "Which is ironic, considering I'm the psychiatrist. Has Donny stated directly that he doesn't want children?"

Daphne shook her head. "Not in so many words, no. He just refuses to discuss it at all with me." She looked up hesitantly. "Is it wrong to leave someone simply because you're unhappy?"

Lilith sighed. "As a psychiatrist, I'd have to say that you owe it to Donny to attempt to work through your differences." She stopped. "But Daphne, as your friend, a divorcee, and, although Frasier would be the first to say otherwise, a human being, no. No, Daphne, it's not wrong at all. I've had to watch this for close to three years, and I'll be the first to tell you, from a psychiatrist's point of view, that it's not healthy. You're miserable. I know you're not the kind of person to wallow in your pain, but you owe it to yourself to be happy. And if leaving him would make you happier than you are, then leave him."

Daphne shuddered. "And do what? Where does that leave me? It leaves me alone, Lilith. Out on my own."

"You could go back to Seattle."

That comment only received a glare. "They visited for Christmas two years ago. I've barely talked to any of them, except to Martin a couple times a month, since then."

"Point taken." She paused. "Frasier asks about you." Daphne nodded but didn't reply. "And what happened between you and Niles... doesn't mean you can't talk to him anymore. In fact, it would be healthy for you to reopen the lines of communication. Niles and I were able to reconstruct our former relationship perfectly, put-downs, insults, and all, and that was after we slept together!" Daphne glared at her again. "Or perhaps not. But Daphne, you know I'm sending Freddie out for Christmas this year. You could –" Daphne merely shook her head. "All right. You could always go home for a little while."

"And listen to my mum whine about how I left a well-to-do man for no good reason other than that I wasn't happy? I think not."

"You could stay with me for a while."

"I wouldn't want to impose."

"Daphne, it'd be an imposition if I currently had a man in my life. When did I last have a man in my life, Daphne?" That got a smile out of her friend. "See? You're always welcome to stay with me."

Suddenly, Daphne's eyes lit up. "Or... or I could do something brand new."

Lilith smiled. Daphne's enthusiasm was always contagious. "What brand new experience are you suggesting?"

"Paris. I could go to Paris. I could paint there."

Lilith rolled her eyes. "Everyone in Paris paints, Daphne." She paused. "Not to say that you're not brilliant, but... it would be a hard atmosphere to break into."

"I could open a gallery."

"With what money? I know you've saved a good deal from your paintings, but to live there AND open a gallery? That would take more than you have."

She sighed. "Lilith, can I tell you something?"

"Whenever have you not told me something, Daphne?"

"Right. Well, I think Donny's been expecting this a bit."

For the first time all night, Lilith was nonplused. "Oh, really? How?"

"He's a divorce lawyer. He's pessimistic. I don't think he ever expected it to last forever. And we've been fighting so much recently... all the time. For that past year. Maybe two. He knows it's ending. He'd make a fair settlement for me, Lilith. If you add that to the nest egg I've saved..."

It was true. In the short time that the people of Boston had known of Daphne's art, ever since Lilith Sternin's eventful suggestion and subsequent recommendation, the value of a commissioned piece had soared. Paintings signed Daphne Moon.

Lilith smiled. "And if you're unsuccessful and go bankrupt, you can come home and stay with me."

Daphne nodded. "Now to decide if I'm joking or serious..."

* * *

"So." He watched her carefully out of the corner of his eye, his arm draped around her shoulder. The movie they had watched together at her apartment had just ended, and the credits rolled softly against the dark backdrop of the small room.

She looked over. "So." Swallowed. "What now?"

He broke down into a grin. "You know, this might sound odd... after... everything –" He blushed. She smiled. " – but the thought of our dating still seems strange to me."

She squeezed his arm. "Of course it does. I mean, look at us. Neither of us has ever dated anyone we were already close to. We jump into relationships with perfect strangers, and they all flop. This... this is special, Frasier."

He smiled. "Yes, it is."

She lifted her wine glass. "To taking things slow and seeing where the future leads us. To us. To happiness."

"That's quite a toast, Roz."

A slow smile. "We have a lot to toast." A grin, now. "Besides, it's a big glass..."

He shook his head, laughed at her, and kissed her, forgetting his wine.

* * *

She sat on the couch in her living room, dog on the sofa beside her, staring at the nightly news. She'd just returned home from her nightly five-mile jog, although she looked no worse for the wear.

Her husband of close to three years watched her from the doorway.

"Daphne?" he whispered solemnly.

She didn't look up, so he tried again, a bit louder. "Daphne?"

This time she did hear him. She looked up, as did her dog, and tried to smile. It fell short. "Hello. You're home early."

He nodded, an intense look on his face. "Yeah, well, there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

Her face clouded with confusion. "You sound serious." They had been having entirely too many serious conversations in the past year. She waved to the couch beside her.

He nodded, worriedly, and walked toward her, seating himself on the couch, facing her. "Daphne." He stopped.

She smiled slightly. He tended to be rather adorable when he didn't know how to broach a subject. "Donny. C'mon. What is it?"

He took a deep breath. "Daphne, you're not happy."

She cracked a smile. "Donny, every couple fights from time to time –"

He shook his head. "No, I mean beyond that. Deep down. At the core. You're not happy."

Of everything in the world he could have said that evening, she had been expecting that the least. "What? No. You're wrong, Donny." She smiled. "I've been a bit out of sorts, I'll admit, and I'm sorry if that's how you're interpreting it..."

He shook his head. "Don't lie to me, Daphne. Please. I deserve better than that."

She took a deep breath. And another. And then her breath hitched in a kind of half-sob, and it all came pouring out. Her desire to have children, her suffocation in her current lifestyle, her need to express herself in her art, her joy at feeling independent through it, her feelings of inadequacy and regret and rebellion.

And he simply listened. Cringed inwardly, knowing undoubtedly that he could have done something a year ago, two years ago, to remedy her sadness. Knowing that he hadn't.

She finished finally, gasping a kind of dry sob, and he reached toward her and pulled her to him, holding her tightly against him. The bracelet on her wrist brushed the back of his neck, making him shiver at its coolness.

And then it occured to him to ask.

What he had been wondering ever since she left the bracelet on her dresser months ago and he had gotten a peek at the inscription.

"Are you in love with him, Daphne?"

She pulled back, surprised. "You mean –" He nodded. And she was quiet for a long, long time, pondering. "I don't know," she finally replied. "But that doesn't matter. It's over."

And then he said the words that hurt him more than any he'd ever uttered. "It doesn't have to be."

Donny Douglas was, before anything, before son, before brother, before husband, a divorce lawyer. And, as such, he knew that love often hurt. More often than not, in fact. And that sometimes, the only way to dull the pain of knowing she doesn't want you is to give her what she does want. Because, although he'd hidden from himself the truth, denied for years that she was unhappy, all he really wanted was for Daphne to be content.

And so he told her, even as every word scorched him. Told her he'd be willing to try a trial separation. Told her to take some time on her own. Told her that if she wanted a divorce, he'd make it easy for her. He wouldn't hold her to anything. Told her he was willing to let her be happy. That, in fact, that was all he wanted.

She took it all calmly, nodded to him solemnly, and that very night began to pack a small bag of her clothes and a slightly larger bag of her art supplies.

She called Lilith Sternin and talked to her for the rest of the evening, weighing the options and the consequences.

The next morning, she kissed her husband goodbye, said a few final words, and took her dog to the airport with her.

And they were on a plane to Seattle.

* * *

The knock on her front door startled her. After all, Frasier was out of town for some psychiatric conference, little Alice was spending the night out at a preschool friend's house, and Roz Doyle wasn't expecting visitors...

She got up, stretched, and made her way to the door. Opened it slowly, and was shocked at who she saw.

"Daphne?"

The woman on the other side looked up, smiled slightly, and pulled her dog up close to her leg. "Hi, Roz."

Roz Doyle took in the sight of her friend, whom she hadn't seen in over two years. Her hair was slightly shorter. She was dressed in a low-cut t-shirt and capri pants. She was still thin but didn't look as though she had lost much weight from the last time they'd been together. She clutched a small suitcase to her side. On her face was a resolved look, the likes of which Roz had rarely seen.

"Daph... what're you doing here? Come in."

She sighed, pulled Sebastian through the doorway, and leaned back against the hard wood wearily as she closed the door behind her. "Oh, Roz, I needed to talk to you. And beg a favor."

Roz, taking a seat on her couch and tucking her legs under her, looked at her curiously as she stood by the door. "All right." She shook her head, smiling. "God, it's been so long, Daph. I'm sorry I didn't keep in touch. It's just that... I don't know. It's pretty complicated."

Daphne nodded. "It's all right, Roz. I understand."

Roz shook her head. "No, I don't think you do. But that's a different subject. What's on your mind? Frasier's out of town. But I guess you knew that. Did you already stop by his apartment?"

Daphne shook her head and leaned it back against the door. "No. No, I came here first."

Roz's brow wrinkled. Daphne sounded upset. Confused. Or worse. "What is it?"

She looked down. "Roz, Donny and I are separated."

Roz did a double take. "Are you serious?" She grinned. "And now you've come back here to –"

"– say goodbye."

"What?"

"I'm going back to Boston in the morning to get my things in order and to say goodbye to Lilith and Freddie. And then I'm leaving for France. Indefinitely."

"But, Daph..."

She shook her head and recalled earlier events in the day. Walking past Cafe Nervosa only to witness Niles Crane's overly amorous behavior with a younger socialite in the center of the cafe. She shuddered at the recollection. "No, I only came to town to say goodbye. To tell you my plans. To talk to you for a while. And to ask a favor of you."

Her friend's eyebrow arched in curiosity. "What kind of favor?"

Daphne looked down guiltily. "I need someone to take care of Sebastian while I'm gone."

Roz grimaced. "Aw, Daph, can't Lilith or somebody do it?"

She rolled her eyes and came to sit beside Roz, at last. "She can't. You know how she's always out of town." She plastered a puppy-dog-like expression on her face. "Look how much he likes you, Roz. He wouldn't be any trouble. He's very good. And he's very affectionate."

"I've already got one of those," Roz muttered under her breath, avoiding Daphne's raised eyebrow.

Frasier Crane chose that moment to call. "Hello?" She smiled into the phone. "Oh, hey there. How's the conference?" A pause. "Yeah, I miss you, too." Another pause. "You'll never guess who's here..."

Her visitor's eyes had, in the meantime, grown to about twice their normal size, and her chin had dropped to the point that her mouth vaguely resembled an O. Daphne Douglas was truly shocked.

"No, no, no. Don't even try. You're never going to guess." She paused, and her face dropped. "Oh. You're right. Yeah, she's sitting beside me." Another pause. "Okay. I will. I'll see you then. Bye."

Daphne smiled slyly. "You didn't tell me you were with Doctor Crane – or should I say... FRA-sier..."

Roz grinned. "Oh, you be quiet." She paused, wondering if she should say what she was thinking, and then, in typical Roz fashion, she let loose. "You almost had his brother there, for a while."

She took a deep breath and leaned back into the couch. "Almost, yes." Then she looked up, newly resolved. "Will you do it, Roz?"

Roz Doyle turned her head down slowly toward the beast. And sighed. "Whaddaya say, mutt. You, me, and Alice. Think we can manage?"

Daphne leapt toward her and hugged her. "Thank you so much, Roz. You won't regret it. He's a wonderful companion..." Her face fell into the sly smile. "Although, I suppose you already have a bed companion..."

Her friend looked indignant. "Daphne! I'll have you know we're taking it slow."

"You? Him?" The question was doubtful. "The only thing you've ever done slowly has been answering that phone message I left you last year."

Roz slumped down guiltily. "I'm sorry about that, Daph. I feel terrible. It's just that –"

She stopped, and Daphne smiled. "I really do understand, you know. I figured out that he told you what happened fairly quickly."

"No, that's not how it happened." She looked worried. "I overheard the two of you at the airport. He never told me anything else."

Daphne nodded and attempted a smile as she looked down at her hands, folding in front of her. Sebastian had meandered his way over toward Roz and was sitting with his head in her lap. "It's all right. Really."

They were quiet for a little while before Roz could think of something more to say to the woman who had been her best friend. "Frasier says that Lilith is coming here next week with Freddie."

Daphne nodded. "Yes, we're leaving Boston on the same day. They're driving me to the airport, I'm seeing them off, and my plane leaves shortly after..." She smiled nervously. "It may seem strange coming from someone who used to live in England, but this is a very big step for me."

Roz grinned and shook her head. "I can imagine. You've split with Donny, and you're leaving everything to go to a place where they don't speak English. I'd call those two pretty big steps. Of course, you're the girl of a thousand big steps, so you'll do fine."

Daphne smiled and nodded, as if trying to convince herself. "Yes. I'll be fine." She nodded. "Just fine."

The two women talked of inconsequential things for the next hour, both afraid to ask the important questions after so much time. They finally retired close to midnight, three in the morning in Boston, Roz to a restful night in her bed and Daphne to another sleepless night on the sofa.

* * *

"Do I look all right?" Roz Doyle, dressed in a chic black dress, asked as she opened the door to let Frasier Crane into her apartment.

He leaned down and gave her a kiss. Which quickly turned into several kisses. "You –" Kiss. "Look –" Kiss. "Phenomenal."

She sighed and pushed him away slightly. "Are you sure? Do we have to see her, Frasier?" She walked toward her bed to fetch her purse and turned back toward him. "You have no clue how nervous I am."

His brow wrinkled as he walked toward her and wrapped his arms around her. "But why, Roz? You've met Lilith half a dozen times. And you've seen Freddie quite a few more times than that."

She rolled her eyes, as if she couldn't believe that he didn't understand, and leaned back. "But Frasier, that was different. THEN, she was Lilith, your ex-wife. NOW..." She shrugged. "She's Lilith... your... ex-wife. It couldn't BE any different, Frasier. I feel like I've got to IMPRESS the witch or something."

He looked away. "Well... not IMPRESS precisely..."

He eyes grew wide. "Oh, my God. What if she asks me about our sex life?"

Frasier rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, Roz. Why on earth would she ask about our sex life?"

"Women TALK about these things, Frasier."

"Is that supposed to explain why you've always vented your sexual frustrations to me, Roz? Too few female friends in your life?" He smirked at her.

But she ignored him, her eyes still bulging. "Oh, my GOD! What if she asks me how you are in bed? I don't know! What am I supposed to say?"

The good doctor grinned sultrily and leaned down toward her. "You could always find out. After all, we've got –" He glanced at the clock beside her bed. "– thirty minutes to be at the airport."

"Hey, don't blame me. It was your idea to –" She looked up at him. "To –" Watched his eyes. "To –" She shook her head and leapt at him. "Ah, to hell with slow. We've got thirty minutes!"

Frasier fended her off. "No, no, no. I still stand fast in our decision –" That he loosened his tie slightly as he shivered spoke a different story. "What has held us back in the past in relationships has been the speed with which we jumped into the sexual side of the relationship. This means –" His gaze drifted down her neckline. "This means... uh... far too... uh..."

"Frasier!"

His head snapped up, and he lifted his hands to her shoulders. "This is far too important to rush into."

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and pouted. "You can't hold out on me forever."

His gaze had already drifted back down. "Oh, dear God, don't I know..."

Roz grinned and pulled him by the tie down to her. "You know," she whispered. "We DO have thirty minutes..."

A wolfish looked overcame him. "Oh, and what a glorious thirty minutes they will be!"

* * *

"Mom, I don't want to be here," Frederick Crane had said as he and his mother deplaned in Seattle, Washington.

Never had a statement been more true.

Young Freddie, thirteen year-old seventh grader at the Marbury Academy, was missing Daphne Douglas terribly.

This wasn't the same as most of his mother's conferences. Usually, when Lilith Sternin had to go away for work, he spent anywhere between a few days and a week with the Douglases. Sometimes even a couple weeks. And he loved it.

This wasn't even the same as a vacation, during which he sometimes didn't see his mother's closest friend for many days but then threw himself back into her company the day he arrived home by begging his mother to invite her over.

Because when he got home this time, Daphne wouldn't be there anymore.

Daphne would be on her way to Paris.

The little boy had cringed as he stepped into the airport lounge and looked around for his father. "Mother," he had whispered, "I really don't want to be here."

Lilith had run a hand through her newly-shortened hair as she spotted Frasier and responded out of the corner of her mouth as she touched her son's shoulder, "I know, and I'm sorry. But please, Frederick, at least pretend in front of your father that you do. If you let on that you don't, he'll assume that it's because of him. Will you do that, Freddie?"

He'd sighed as Frasier ran up to them. "Yes, Mother."

"There's my boy!" His father, looking rumpled and flushed and dragging an equally rumpled and flushed Roz behind him, had grabbed him into his arms and spun him about in a way that had Frederick almost nauseated.

"Hey, Dad."

Lilith had simply raised an amused eyebrow at the flustered pair.

Now, all of the Cranes, a Sternin, and a Doyle were seated around – squeezed around – Frasier's dining table.

"So, Niles, I had thought that perhaps you would be accompanied tonight by one of your multitudinous lady friends," Lilith deadpanned to her former brother-in-law across the table.

Niles Crane huffed quietly. "I'll have you know that LYDIA, the woman who was supposed to be with me tonight, had a important commitment for dinner. I'm to meet her later tonight."

Lilith rolled her eyes. "I'm sure that's all you're doing." She turned to Frasier. "Thank you so much for dinner, Frasier. It's very good."

Frasier smiled haughtily. "Yes, some might say that I missed my calling as a chef in a fine French restaurant."

Lilith's eyes widened, and she stole a glance at her son. The boy blanched but said nothing.

Roz glanced over at Doctor Sternin and smiled – a bit too brightly. "Lilith, I just love your hair down like that. I don't think I've ever seen you wear it out. And it's so short..."

Lilith nodded. They had all noticed it. Her once flowing mane was cut to her chin. "Oh, yes. Actually, just yesterday, Daphne and I went together to the salon and both got all of our hair cut off. In the spirit of change –" She stopped, realizing her error, and turned to her son. He looked ready to faint. Niles looked a bit worse for wear, himself.

"Momma, may I be excused?"

Frasier glanced over. "But, Frederick, you've barely touched your dinner."

The boy looked at his mothe pleadingly. "Momma? Mom? Please?"

She nodded sympathetically, worry touching her eyes. "Of course, Frederick. Why don't you go to Da –" She stopped herself. "You're father's study?"

The boy, eyes wide, shook his head.

"Your father's room, then."

He nodded, jumped up, and ran off hastily.

Roz looked after him. "What was THAT all about, Lilith?"

Frasier's ex-wife glanced at her food and then back up. "He's been under a lot of pressure recently. He's been quite upset for the past few days."

"What happened?" But as she asked, she realized why the boy was upset, muttering, "Oh..." under her breath. She had promised Daphne not to tell the Cranes immediately of her failed marriage or of her subsequent trip to Paris in the event she and Donny worked through their differences. The promise seemed pointless to Roz, for the first time Frasier came to her apartment, he had been bombarded by the huge white dog she was babysitting, but she had kept it – well, aside from Frasier, whom she had made promise to keep his own lips tightly sealed.

Mentally, Lilith cringed at Roz's question, but she had made the same promise to Daphne, and she wouldn't break it. "Complications at school."

Wrong thing to say. Frasier, the obvious reason behind the boy's behavior flying over his head, bristled. "COMPLICATIONS? Complications at Marbury? Did you try to pick him up from school, again, Lilith? Or did you insist on seeing another of his teachers? You know Doctor Campbell said that –"

Lilith glared and interrupted. "TRIVIAL complications."

Roz nudged Frasier. "FRASIER." She glared pointedly, trying to get through to him.

Martin stood sullenly. "I dunno, but he seems pretty upset. I'm gonna go talk to the kid."

At which point the sixth and last dinner guest looked up shakily, still upset from the recent reference. "No, don't you worry about it, Dad. I'll have a talk with him."

He was standing to do so when Lilith and Roz at the same moment jumped up to stop him.

"Niles, I'm his mother. I should have a chat with him."

Niles looked at Roz, who realized for the first time that she had no logical excuse to raise protest. She shrugged helplessly and slumped back into her chair, defeated.

All to no avail. Niles was already on his way to his brother's room. Seconds later, he had shut the door behind him.

Lilith looked to Roz, questioning. Roz nodded and gestured toward Frasier. "He knows, too."

Martin Crane wrinkled his brow and brought his hands to his hips. "Knows what? Am I the last to know everything?"

A series of meaningful glances later, Lilith disclosed the news. "Daphne and Donny have separated. She left this morning for Paris. Indefinitely."

His eye grew round. "She did WHAT?"

* * *

"She did WHAT?" Martin Crane's voice travelled from the living room into Frasier Crane's bedroom.

Niles looked oddly toward the door to his brother's room, then back down at Freddie. "Your grandpa sometimes... oh, never mind. No explanation would do." He seated himself beside the boy, who was staring intently at the video game that his father always brought out on the occasion of his visit. "So, chap, what's bothering you?"

Freddie didn't look up, merely began killing space aliens with renewed vigor and determination. "You're not supposed to know."

His brow furrowed. "You must've heard wrong, Freddie. Why would your mother not want me to know? She said it was about your schoolwork."

Frederick looked skeptically up at his uncle out of the corner of his eyes, skillfully manuevering his character past a horde of invaders despite the breach in his concentration. "You actually believe everything Mom says? She made that up because Daphne doesn't want anyone to know," he pouted.

His uncle blinked. Again. Tried desperately to comprehend what the boy was saying. "Wh – what?"

The boy gave a small smile. "But guess what, Uncle Niles?"

Niles had moved toward the edge of the bed, chin supported in his hand. He looked back at his nephew. "What's that, Freddie?"

Now, it was a full-fledged grin. He paused the game (!) and turned toward his uncle in excitement. "Mother says I might be able to visit Daphne over summer! That's just a little way's away!"

Niles Crane wrinkled his brow a bit. "Where exactly is Daphne going, Frederick?"

The boy clutched the controller to his chest, a sad smile on his face. "She's going to Paris." He looked up. "I'll be able to practice my French, Uncle Niles. I'm getting good. I'm the best French student in my class."

But his uncle, good relative that he was, was ignoring the boy almost entirely by this point. He paced the area beside Frasier's bed wildly.

"What are you doing, Uncle Niles?"

He looked down at his nephew, who was still sitting on the floor at the foot of his father's bed, video controller in hand. Niles took a deep breath, walked over to him, and slumped down beside him. "Why's she in Paris, Frederick?"

"She and Mister Donny split up."

Niles Crane had imagined hearing those words, or similar ones, for years. He'd imagined that he would be ecstatic. He would praise whatever higher power had caused such a glorious event to occur.

But now, strangely, when it happened, he didn't know what to feel.

"So, how long's she been gone, Frederick?"

Freddie sighed and looked down at his loafer-encased feet. "She just left. She saw us off at the airport, and then she left. She won't be there when we get back." He looked up, eyes wide. "She's always there when we get back."

Niles smiled distantly. "She's been gone a few hours and you already miss her beyond belief." He sighed. "Yes, she does have that effect."

"Mother says Daphne has a way with us Crane men."

He glanced down at his nephew curiously as they sat shoulder to shoulder. "Oh, does she?"

Freddie nodded. "She says we love her because she's free."

The slow, sad smile returned. "Yes, we do, don't we?" he whispered softly.

"Wanna see something, Uncle Niles?"

He sat of straighter and took a deep breath. "Yes, I would, Frederick. What do you have?"

At that, Frederick produced a ragged wallet proudly. Niles took it from him and opened it – and was confronted with two photos of Daphne. Both professionally done on the same day – she wore the same outfit. In one, she had her arms around a beaming Freddie Crane, dressed to kill in his Marbury blazer. In the other, she was alone, turned away slightly and smiling a sultry, alluring smile at the camera. "Freddie, would you give me this photo?"

Freddie nodded solemnly. "I have another at home. A big one. It's framed. You can have it."

He carefully extracted the photo and looked at it fondly, running his finger lightly over her hair before standing with new resolve. "Freddie, don't worry."

Frederick nodded as he turned the tv off and climbed up to the head of his father's bed, curling up soundly. "I'm okay."

Niles smiled. "What I mean is... well, maybe you won't have to miss her too long."

He stood and left the room quickly, grabbed his overcoat, and began to leave Frasier's apartment.

"Niles?"

He turned around briefly at his brother's voice.

"I thought you weren't meeting Lydia until ten?"

Niles nodded. "Actually, I'm not meeting her at all."

Lilith's eyes grew wide. "Oh, dear. This isn't good. What did Frederick tell you, Niles?"

He took a deep breath, taking hold of the doorknob. "Only what I needed to know. Goodnight."

He opened the door and was on his way out when he heard his name – again. "Niles!"

He looked back at the speaker – Lilith – and took a deep, impatient breath. "What?"

She smiled mischievously. "Aren't you forgetting something, Niles?"

He looked around helplessly and shrugged.

"Don't you need to know where in Paris she'll BE, Niles?"

"Am I to assume you would actually disclose such classified information to me, Lilith?"

She turned away. "Well, Niles, if you're going to respond with such BITING sarcasm, I might have to withhold all."

He leaned back against the door. "I'll refrain from commenting on the redundancy of fighting sarcasm with sarcasm and instead skip straight to the more urgent matter. Frederick made it seem as though you weren't willing to say anything, Lilith. Why the change of heart? Is there something in this for you?"

She rolled her eyes and she stood and walked toward him. "Is it too much to believe that I simply want to see my friend happy?"

His eyes widened. "Lilith, I never knew you considered me in such a light! I want to tell you how flatt –"

"Oh, not you, you idiot." She sat down on the couch, and Niles, shoulders hunched, followed suit. "Now, get out a pencil and paper, and write this down..."

Roz, at the table, nudged Frasier's shoulder, smiled, and sighed. She'd been right at the airport two years before. It wasn't the end. Sometimes, things have a way of working out...


	4. Part IV: French Kiss

**Rediscovering Daphne: A Chronicle  
****Part IV: French Kiss**

I watched her through the rain as she approached Auguste Rodin's home, now a museum, open to the public for a small price. She walked up to a guard, whispered something to him softly, and walked by, leaving the man with an odd smile on his face. I recognized that smile. It was one I often wore around her. I knew its source. She was enchanting.

Two years. Can it really have been two years?

Two years.

What were her last words to me? "Thank you," or something like that. Oh, damn. I can't pretend. I know what she said by heart. The heart that stopped as I said, "I think it's time to say goodbye." The hardest words I've ever had to say. And she responded simply: "Yes, I think you're right." I stuttered a thank you. "Thank you for – for –." She nodded. "I know. Thank you, as well." And then I embraced her. And she kissed me, and my heart started beating again, but slightly.

I died in her arms.

I don't think I ever really came back to life until now.

Melodramatic, I know. Tacky and silly, yes. True? Verily, verily, I tell no lie.

As she pulled down the hood of her dripping black rain jacket, I could tell that her hair was quite a bit shorter, now. It had grown very long that Christmas. Now, true to Lilith's words, it was practically bobbed, bouncing lightly and happily around her chin, brushing the nape of her neck enticingly.

She'd gained some weight back. A much-needed change. She was still slim, though, as she'd always been. The sweater she wore clung gently to her curves, as did the skirt.

She looked free. Standing just inside the doorway of Rodin's house, dripping rain which pooled around her feet, for the first time in so, so, so long, she looked free.

Oh, good God, to be here! I blinked and pinched myself as the rain came down around me.

You may wonder how I came to be following the only woman I've ever loved through the wet streets of Paris. It's a long, boring story. A long, boring story of a heated conversation with my former fiance (she dislikes my love for what she feels she has "done" to me; as if she did anything she shouldn't have), a week of waiting and being lectured to in Seattle, a crowded, long plane flight on which I was, again, denied access to first class, and a long wait in the rain outside the building at which I knew she was staying (just think of Freddie's single solo from My Fair Lady, the pathos of it all, add a thunderstorm, and you've got that picture).

Frasier told me that that bartender friend of his, Sam Malone, once actually flew to Florence to stop Frasier's marriage to Diane, never even to encounter them. I suppose I should feel lucky that I've found Daphne at all.

Thanks to Lilith. That walking enigma.

I've yet to garner the courage to approach her, though.

What to say? Two years ago I saw her for the last time. We agreed to make a clean split of it, and, at least outwardly, we did.

And now... what?

I heard that she was separated, so I vowed to myself to travel to the ends of the earth to claim her for my own?

No. No one could ever claim Daphne. No one could ever own her. That was Donny's mistake, you know. He thought he could.

But he finally learned the meaning behind that age-old maxim.

"If you love something, set it free. If it loves you, it will come back."

I hope to God she doesn't go back.

Fumbling and awkward, forgetting my French in my haste and nervousness, I stumbled my way out of the rain and into the museum, watched her, terrified, from across a crowded room.

From across a crowded room. I feel like I should be writing a harlequin instead of this... this tale: a pathetic, lovelorn man who can't bring himself to confront this woman...

Of course, if all were to go according to plan, it would be a harlequin...

I emitted a high, nervous laugh at the thought.

She was gazing fixedly at Rodin's famous statue of the embracing lovers. I began to grow short of breath. The room seemed to pulse around me. The hardwood floors beneath my feet seemed to quiver. But with a deathly calm, I felt myself approaching her, steadily walking forward, until I was mere meters away. I watched her back, daring anyone to come near her. Daring myself to go near her. She never turned around.

"Did you know that Rodin's greatest student was also the object of one of his greatest obsessions?"

My breath caught. Years ago, I would have surely been thrown into a fit of hyperventilation. But after all the times she shocked me, terrified me, comforted me, I suppose I've gotten used to anything from her. "I knew they were in love."

Still, she didn't turn. Just gazed at that alluringly erotic yet fantastically beautiful work of art. "The problem, though, was that he was more in love with his art than he could have ever been with another human being."

"And he wouldn't leave his wife."

She turned to me and smiled slightly. "I thought you didn't know the story."

I smiled. "I know more than you think. And you know more than I think. How did you know I was behind you?"

She smiled broadly, walked to me, and took my arm in hers, leading me to the next room. Kept her gaze locked in front of her, away from me. "I recognized your smell." I swallowed. "And there was a mirror on the wall to my left." She paused. "And I saw you walking back and forth on the street outside my hotel room. You'd make a fantastic detective, you know."

I mentally slapped myself. What an idiot. "Just call me Lord Peter Whimsey."

She gazed at the piece in the center of the room into which we were walking. A giant, yellow wave encompassing a group of whispering women. "The Gossips," it was called. "She went mad, you know."

What? "What?"

"Camille Claudel. She went mad." She paused. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm a bit mad."

I laughed softly. "But delightfully so, Daphne. Delightfully so."

She walked me toward a white marble foot in the corner of the room. "This was her first example for him. She sculpted it and brought it to his studio in hopes that he would notice it. Sign it." She paused. "He did. He never stopped noticing her after she'd gotten his attention." And sighed. "I feel... surreal just standing here. I can feel them... as if the ghosts of the past are all around us."

I turned my head toward her and shot her a pained glance which she didn't see. Or if she saw it, she didn't comment. "They are, Daphne. They are all around us. So many ghosts."

Keeping her arm looped through mine, she walked me through the rest of the house before we reached the back door. The sky had cleared momentarily; the sun peaked out from behind a cloud. We walked out into the garden, where we stood looking up at what is perhaps Rodin's most famous piece, the giant Thinker.

She'd barely looked at me at all.

"Why are you here?"

"I..." My breath caught. Think quickly. The truth or a lie? The truth or a lie? The truth. "I have a conference."

She smirked slightly, eyebrow raised. "Oh. Well, then, I suppose you'll be too busy to have dinner with me tonight."

I swallowed and spoke too fast. "No. Not too busy. Dinner tonight. Sounds wonderful. I'll pick you up."

She smiled. "Are you going to tell me what time?"

I blinked. Twice. A third time. "What time is it now?"

She looked around, as if the answer were floating in the air. "A little past four."

"Seven."

She nodded, smiled, leaned in toward me, and then did something she hadn't done in a long, long time.

She kissed me.

On the cheek.

Well, I take what I can get.

And then she leaned farther in, so that her lips brushed my ear, and whispered, "It's so good to see you again. To see you now."

She leaned back, shot me a sultry smile, and then walked back into Rodin's house, leaving me standing beside the Thinker and looking like an idiot.

Oh, God.

This is a Daphne I've never seen before.

A Daphne's who's free and who knows how I feel.

A reinvented Daphne.

A rediscovered Daphne.

And I knew right then that this new, or old, Daphne would never go back to Boston.

At least I hoped not.

* * *

The knock on my door startled me. Not because I wasn't used to having visitors. In fact, I was. But Niles by now was most likely making a jackass out of himself in Paris, and Roz was visiting her mother in Wisconsin.

I glanced over at my father, who was reading some pointless sports article in the Seattle Times. "Dad, are you expecting someone?"

He didn't look up. "No."

Suddenly, something huge and furry leapt upon my lap, knocking the breath out of me and drooling on the front of my sweater vest.

Ugh. You would know that Roz would take Alice but leave this infernal dog.

At least it got along with the other mongrel in out house.

Yes, Dad loved it.

I shook it off me and stood to answer my door.

"Lilith." She wore a black suit, but an alluring one. The blouse was cut quite low, the jacket a long fitted one that hung to midthigh, the skirt a short one, also midthigh. And that haircut... it was against everything she was on the outside. She was cold, she was hard. That haircut, with it's playful little bounce, that was the private Lilith. Damn seductive woman. She has to continually remind me without saying a word why I married her and why I'll never quite be over her. I swallowed and looked around the hallway, expecting to see my son.

"He wouldn't come on the elevator. Daphne let him watch Silence of the Lambs last week. He's probably come up about ten flights of stairs so far."

I nodded as if that explained everything. "I didn't expect to see you again before you left for Boston."

She took a deep breath. "Well, actually, I decided to pick up Sebastian and take him to stay with me. I heard Roz mention last week that she would be leaving town, and I knew you wouldn't be agreeable to watching him, so..."

I glanced back at the dog, who was lying sprawled across my suede couch, four legs up in the air, panting blissfully. "Oh, you don't have to, Lilith. Roz will be back in a few days, and I'm sure she can shove him off to Niles once he gets home."

She smirked. "You assume he'll be home sometime in the near future."

"I should hope he will be. He's only canceled his appointments for two weeks. Longer than that and he's going to have to make more permanent arrangements."

She glanced up at me. "There was something else I wanted to ask you, Frasier." I raised an eyebrow in question. "I thought you might like to get some dinner tonight. Just the two of us."

Warning bells went off in the back of my mind, but I ignored them. I should learn to stay away from her. I really should. There should be warning signs tacked up all around her: "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here." But I find myself inexplicably drawn.

Again and again and again.

I gazed at her. "All right, Lilith. Dinner."

Silence as we watched one another.

Suddenly, Freddie came bursting through the door to the stairwell, panting. His face fell when he saw his mother. "Oh... How long have you been here?"

Ah, I see. A race.

She smiled. "I just walked out of the elevator, just this second. I'd barely just knocked. You almost beat me, kiddo." She reached down and ruffled his hair slightly. "You want to spend some time with your grandpa while your dad and I get dinner?"

He looked slightly terrified at the prospect but nodded anyway and scurried inside, navigating immediately to the familiar white dog.

"So, where to?"

I walked inside to retrieve my coat, ignoring the death stare Dad was shooting at me, and returned to her. "Well, I have reservations for seven at Le Cigare Volant. Niles had dinner reservations and symphony or theater tickets for just about every night this week, and he's been so kind as to allow me to use them," I finished sarcastically. My brother never committed such "kindnesses" purely for the pleasure of them but rather only if he had something to gain from them.

In this case, he hoped to gain Daphne.

A tall order.

"Are tonight's tickets symphony or theater?"

I closed the door behind me and reached into my blazer pocket to the envelop of tickets. Glanced through them.

"Opera."

"Which one?"

"Aida."

She smiled. "Splendid, Frasier. Simply splendid."

Oh, boy.

* * *

I watched him from across the table. His head was bowed, and he was picking at his food with his fork. Then he reached for his wine, and the glass shook ever so slightly all the way to his lips. He smiled awkwardly.

He was nervous. It was endearing.

He'd been at the hotel earlier than he'd needed to be. (I suppose this imaginary conference wasn't keeping him too busy.) He didn't come right in, though. He'd paced out front for about twenty minutes talking to himself. I have to admit, in my own anxiety about my first evening with him in... could it be over two years? I had gotten ready much too early. So I watched him fondly from my window.

That's when he'd looked up. And our eyes met. And I was about to feel embarrassed for staring when I realized that it was he who should've been embarrassed. So I smiled with a good deal more confidence than I had, and he looked down at his shoes nervously.

I'd come down to the lobby in a flourish. I was wearing my favorite dress (a bit reminiscent of another time, so, so long ago – I wore my favorite then, too; that one was a bit lighter than this), a gorgeous deep crimson number with no back, a low front, and a flowing silk scarf to match which whisped down my bare back. Donny bought it for me. Well, Donny paid for it. I'd never worn it for him, though.

I felt sexy.

Am I allowed to feel that way, now that I'm almost forty-two? I don't think I've felt sexy in quite a while.

I smiled at him. He looked down at his feet.

And then I wondered, for the first time, if he wasn't here for me.

Oh, my God. He's here to tell me that he's marrying someone else.

He shuffled his feet awkwardly and glanced up at me. His eyes are so blue. "Daphne." Just my name. Acknowledgment. As always.

But the way he says it...

And I wondered for a split second whether I should call him Doctor Crane or Niles. And he knew. He knew. Because what I called him... it depended on why he was here, and it determined where our time together here would go.

He looked into my eyes and whispered, so that I could barely hear him, "Niles. Niles, now."

"Niles."

Now, here we sat, in this posh restaurant which heralded exquisite dishes, the names of which were nearly unpronounceable, despite my decent familiarity with the tongue.

But he was still fidgeting, damn it! And if he didn't look up soon from those asparagus spears...

I put my hand over his on the table, stilling his tapping fingers. "Niles. Relax. It's me. And granted, it's been a long time. But it's me."

He looked up at me carefully. "I heard about Donny."

I sighed. I'd assumed he had. Why else – "Lilith or Roz?"

He looked down guiltily. "Freddie."

And I laughed. Until I couldn't breath. Great tension reliever. "The little scoundrel! I should've known he'd be as bad as his father. I made him swear he wouldn't tell his mother I let him watch Silence of the Lambs, too, but, no, the next day, 'Daphne, he's not old enough for that!' It's hereditary." I paused. "But I think perhaps you didn't get that trait. What have you told them? About us?"

"Only what they'd already figured out. Nothing else." He paused and looked down. "That was... it was private, Daphne. Personal. You and me." He looked down at that damn asparagus again. "I cherished our time together that Christmas, Daphne. That night. And then, by the ocean... I didn't tell them any of that."

I swallowed. "But Roz knew –"

"Roz heard us talking." I nodded. I'd known that. I wanted to hear him affirm it. He hadn't told anyone.

I laughed quietly to myself. "I still can't believe about Roz and your brother... I wondered for a while if hell'd frozen over."

He smiled slightly. "I've been wondering that a lot myself, recently."

"How've you been, Niles? It's been two years."

He looked at his plate. "Two years, five months, and eleven days." Then his face turned red. "I did the math on the plane."

I smiled at that. He's so dear. How could I've married – No. No regrets. What's done is done. Isn't that what I told him?

"Niles..."

His head jerked up. "Yes?"

I frowned, and he watched me nervously. I was nervous. "I saw you in Seattle. Last week."

I don't think he'd expected that. He fell back in his chair, away from the table, and watched me. "You did."

"Yes. I saw you in Cafe Nervosa. You were..." I cringed at the image. "You were with a woman..."

He gasped. Again. He had trouble catching his breath. "She... no, Daphne. She –" I was quiet. I waited for him to recover his breath. I wanted to hear this. I needed to.

Not that he doesn't have a right to lead his own life, mind you. I did. Even though it was a sort of quasi-life.

But that doesn't mean I want him to.

And it certainly doesn't give him the right to be here if he's involved.

I've been tormenting myself with that possibility since I saw them. Because somehow, I don't know why, I've never been able to imagine him with anyone but me.

It hurts to imagine him with anyone but me. And to see it –

"Oh, God, Daphne, when I hadn't seen you for so long, I started seeing some women –"

I nodded. So that was it. He had come to – what – I began to stand.

But he reached out and wrapped his hands around my wrist. "No, Daphne. You don't understand. It was nothing. Nothing. Roz said I should do it. Said I should get out. Said I'd never have you, that I needed to move on. Frasier said so, too. So I... I tried."

"And you believed them?"

It hurt that he hadn't had faith in me.

Would I have had faith in me?

I sat down.

"No. I didn't want to."

"But you did what they said. You moved on."

His eyes shone with a desperate gleam, and his hand tightened around my wrist. "No. I could never."

"You love me?" My voice was timid. So timid. I wanted to weep. I'd been waiting for this. We'd had our confessions in the past, but that was before it could lead anywhere.

"Daphne. Do you have to ask?"

And suddenly, here we were. Alone in Paris.

"Just tell me. Please. It's been two years since I've heard you say it."

His eyes shone. "I love you, Daphne."

My breath caught. "Where are you staying?"

He blinked. "What?"

I watched him intensely. "Hotel. What hotel are you staying at?"

Another blink. "Actually, I hadn't really... um... I hadn't..." He paused. "I don't know."

My poor, dear Niles. How do these minor details continually elude him?

"I have something to show you. Let's go."

* * *

Lilith sighed and leaned back in her chair at Le Cigare Volant. The room was dimly lit. The wine was very expensive and very good. A subtle aria was playing in the background. And I was sweating buckets.

But I suppose having dinner with an ex-wife – an ex-wife who seems to be actively pursuing a revival of your relationship – will do that to a man.

I tugged at my collar and sipped my wine.

Our conversation had been stilted. Neither of us seemed sure what to say. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, looking anxiously at her plate.

Oh, but my, did she ever look fetching. She always has, mind you. Delve beneath that cold exterior, get her to let her hair down (metaphorically and literally), and she's... well, she's the woman I married. Right there in front of me.

And this new haircut... It made her seem... coy. Playful.

Stop it, Frasier. I must put my foot down.

I love Roz.

Oh, good God. Did I think that?

I've never really thought of it in those terms before.

Well, of course, I've always loved Roz. She's my best friend. But... we haven't actually said it to each other in THIS way, in this ROMANTIC way, since we began this... this... affair. We haven't actually admitted to being IN love.

And because we haven't admitted it, I've avoided thinking it.

Oh, my God. I'm in love with Roz.

"Frasier, I actually had a very specific reason for asking you here."

She stared down at her plate, fumbling with her fork slightly nervously.

Oh, God, Lilith, not now. Not now. Not after I've made this revelation.

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and prayed against the inevitable.

"Yes, Lilith?"

"Frasier, it's been a long time since I've been in a serious relationship." She swallowed. "In fact, you could say, despite the fact that I've since been married, my last real relationship was... with you."

She paused and took a deep breath, and I cringed. She was going to try to reignite our relationship. I could feel it.

She looked up at me. Her eyes were dark. One could so easily lose himself in those eyes – er. Ahem. "Frasier, last time I got married, I barely said a word to you about it. I'm not happy that I did that to you."

I cleared my throat. "Quite all right, Lilith. I never held it against you."

"Frasier, I didn't want that to happen this time."

My eyes shot open. What did she mean by that?

"What?"

"Has Freddie mentioned... mentioned anyone from Boston to you recently, Frasier?"

I cocked an eyebrow. "No... Should he have?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh. Well, then." She bent down and lifted her purse. "Never mind, Frasier. It's nothing."

I rolled my eyes and watched her skeptically. "Lilith."

She looked slightly nervous. "Oh, all right, Frasier. A certain doctor and I from Boston have recently begun seeing each other... just informally... over coffee and such... and we've formed a... a... a simpatico." She looked down at her wine, swirling it about her glass absently.

So amazed was I that I didn't even think to question her use of the word "simpatico."

And I'm embarrassed to record for posterity what I next said; yet for the sake of verity it must be here.

I gawked.

"You mean... you mean you don't want me?"

She looked at me strangely, at first surprised, before bowing her head and grinning slightly, covering her amusement behind her hand. Her smile showed around her splayed fingers, though.

"Oh, dear, Frasier, is that what you thought?"

My hands went to my hips as I sat up indignantly. "Well – well – !"

She smiled at me with a note of fondness I haven't seen in some time. "Oh, Frasier, Frasier. You'll never change, will you?"

I sunk down in my chair. "So, Lilith, what's his name?"

She looked down nervously. "Oh, it doesn't matter."

I eyed her, grinning broadly. "Yes, Lilith, it does matter..."

She cringed.

Uh-oh. Bad sign.

"Well..."

"Lilith," I replied sternly.

She took a deep drink of her wine and ran a hand quickly through her newly-shortened hair. "All right. Do you remember Marc Goldberg?"

Marc Goldberg?

That name struck a nerve... if only I could place it...

"Should I?"

She looked relieved. Greatly so. "Oh, no, not at all, Frasier. Just a... a fellow doctor. At any rate, I saw him a while ago, right after Daphne left to come here, at a symposium in Boston, and we've been... communicating... meeting for coffee. And I think..." She smiled. "I think it might lead somewhere, Frasier. Freddie adores him."

Marc Goldberg.

Marc Goldberg.

Marc... Marc... Marc Goldberg?

"MARC GOLDBERG?"

She cringed. "Yes, Frasier, Marc Goldberg."

I could feel my eyes bulging. "Is he not the pompous ass who wrote that editorial in the GLOBE critiquing my methods?"

"He... he had valid reasons, Frasier..."

"VALID REASONS? Yes, and Derek Mann had valid reasons, too!"

Her brow wrinkled. "Derek Mann?"

"You can't date him, Lilith! Imagine the terrible things he'll say about me to Frederick!"

She just rolled her eyes. "He barely even remembers you, Frasier. It won't matter."

I crossed my arms across my chest. "It matters to me."

She smiled in sympathy at me, a smile bearing that same fondness I was so unaccustomed to seeing on her face.

I mean, for God's sake, she didn't even smile at me like that when we were MARRIED.

Not even when we were DATING!

I hate to think that... that Marc Goldberg has done this for her.

And so, in the course of a brief dinner, one conflict was averted. Lilith, indeed, was not in pursuit of me. Which, considering my current... attachment to Roz (still a difficult concept to fathom, despite the duration of our... attachment) is a good thing.

Not that I could have been tempted, mind you! I have iron resolve!

But at the same time...

Frederick is apparently fond of the illustrious Doctor Goldberg.

And in the privacy of these pages, I'll admit that that scares me. I've never before conceived of being replaced...

* * *

He gazed at me intensely as I led him up to my hotel room.

I realize how this must seem.

To him, especially.

And I'll admit that perhaps how it seems is, in fact, how I intended it to seem...

I shook my head, grasped his hand in both of mine, and led him toward the door to my hotel room.

This is totally unlike me. I'm not like this. And around him – Oh, good God. Donny's across an ocean but just a phone call away. We're not divorced – but we might as well be, by my reasoning.

And I love this man so much. I have for years. And I've had three miserable years to prepare myself for this...

"Daphne –" he choked out. It was a sound of disbelief, of inquiry. "Daphne, are you really about to do what I think you're going to do?" the tone asked. "Daphne, are you ready for this?" it asked. "Are you sure? Because if we do this, and you're not ready, and it ruins us somehow, I could never forgive myself." I know him too well. Even after all these years.

I smiled and squeezed his hand as I reached behind me with my free hand to fumble with the doorknob. "Niles."

"Daphne –" At that point, I managed to get the door open, and we fell back through it clumsily. "Daphne."

He pulled back from me, then, remaining by the door with his arms crossed across his chest, watching me with that strange, intent, questioning gaze.

I sighed and put my hands on my hips, cocking my head to the side. What on earth – "What's wrong, Niles?"

"I just –" He looked down at his feet, burying his hands deep within the pockets of his trenchcoat in that gesture that is oh-so-bloody him. "I had this all planned out in my mind, but now that I'm here, it all feels so... strange."

Oh, my God. He's having second thoughts. "Niles," I gasped out. "I just... I wanted you to see something. To see something that's been very important to me over the past few years."

He cocked his head and looked up, advancing slightly toward me. "What?"

"It's something... It's..." I swallowed. He's not the only one who's bloody nervous. "My journal, Niles. My sketchbook. I want to let you read it. No one ever has before..."

He closed his eyes tightly and rocked back on his heels a bit. "No one... yes."

I reached into my bag and pulled out a thick volume which encompassed roughly the past three years of my life. I held it out for him, willing him to take it. But he just watched it warily, his blue eyes darting between the book, my face, and the door.

"I –"

He stopped. Bloody hell, Niles, take the book.

"I –"

I was offering up my heart and soul to him, and he showed no sign of accepting. My hands shook ever so slightly.

"I –"

His eyes met mine. They were wet with unshed tears. "I think I've got to go."

And he stumbled out the door.

I fell down on the bed's silky duvet, clutching my book to my chest, and cried.

* * *

I know what you're thinking. You're wondering what on earth just happened. You're wondering how I could have just... just LEFT her... Alone... In that hotel room... Looking so soft and vulnerable... And that bed... Looking so soft and inviting...

Oh, now I'm just becoming all hot and bothered. Not what I need right now. I need to think.

It's not that I didn't want this, you understand.

I wanted it desperately. With every fiber of my being, if I dare to utilize such a tired expression.

But I feel strange. I feel rushed. I feel as if things are moving too quickly.

Well, all right, I realize that some may say that ten years is by no means "too quick," but that's the very point of it, don't you see? Ten years to lead up to... what? A quick night in a cheap hotel room in Paris?

All right, so the hotel wasn't cheap at all. I don't know how she can afford it, to tell the truth.

All right, so ten years are bearing down to dinner and a night of passion in an expensive hotel room in the middle of Paris.

...

Oh, good God. That's exactly what I've always wanted it to be.

I looked back toward the well-lit hotel as I strode quickly away from it. Would it be too terribly embarrassing to turn around right now, walk back up to the room, open the door, and say, "Ah, forget that, Daphne, I've changed my mind. Let's get to it."

But who am I kidding? It wasn't the atmosphere. It wasn't that it's come too quickly. It wasn't that there was something too wrong or too right about her.

It's that it was here. Here. Finally. Here. The dream, a reality.

I'm a firm believer in dreams. Every man needs a set of them to store under his pillow. I've always had mine. My dream was to be with her. To love her and to be loved by her. It's all I ever wanted.

And now it was here. The chance was mine for the taking. I could be with her.

So why do I walk away, through the slight mist of the night in Paris?

Not to mention the fact that at every moment I brave a good chance of being robbed... or mugged... or murdered...

I looked around anxiously, scurrying (all right, yes, I realize it – I scurry; but at least it's something I've realized) farther toward one of the better-lit areas of the city.

When I was in the fourth grade, I wanted more than anything to win the school geography bee. Frasier had won it the previous year from our elementary school, and now he was in sixth grade and competing in it again, and I, a lowly fourth grader, was in the running as well.

I studied and studied for months for it, despite the ridicule of my brother. All I wanted in the world was to win. I knew everything: the history of the Duomo, the population of Montevideo, all of the defining reasons behind the Russian Revolution (not to mention a variety of other tidbits on the Eastern Bloc). I was prepared.

Every night, since I was very young, my mother had bid my brother and I goodnight in the same manner. She read to us. Not simply anything, either, mind you. She read us Freud or Jung, Dickens or Flaubert. I learned about Raskolnivok in the second grade as, night after night, we made our way through Dostoevsky (although I didn't learn exactly WHY Sonia was bad until I was well into high school), and my introduction to the moors of England was made through a similar venture into the pages of Emily Bronte. Othello, Lear, Macbeth – all introduced to me in this manner. Even after Frasier and I finally got separate rooms at the beginning of my fourth grade year, my mother came into my room alone to continue the tradition.

But I'd forced her to change the routine for the month before the bee. She'd been reading National Geographic to me, or the Encyclopaedia Britannica; or else we were perusing maps for hours. But that final night, she came in and took the little pocket guide to Amsterdam out of my quivering hands and sat beside me. "Niles," she began, "If you want this, you can have it. It's yours for the taking, my little man. Sleep, now."

And I did.

And the next morning, I won the school bee hands down.

Frasier went home for the day, his face bright red and his teeth clenched. I grinned at him as he marched out to Dad's old police car. Ha, ha, Frasier. For once in my life, I had outdone him. My dream had come true. And it felt extraordinary.

Until that night, of course, when I woke up to find him in the process of trying to suffocate me.

I still blame my occasional fits of panic on that night.

Frasier didn't speak to me for weeks and weeks, though. Our relationship wasn't the same for quite some time afterward. Imagine the rivalry we have now magnified by a thousand-fold. It was horrid. It was not worth it.

That story may seem a bit incongruous to this moment. No, I don't expect that Daphne will try to murder me in the near future. If she did, she'd find a much more chic, sophisticated, sly way to do it – slipping arsenic into my coffee or the likes. But no, no, that's not the problem.

It's also not that I feel that Daphne won't live up to my expectations. No, I'm not worried about her in the least.

No, it's me. I'm scared of myself. I'm terrified of the reality of a relationship with this woman. I'm afraid of taking it for granted. And I'm terrified, utterly, that I will let her down.

It's not rational.

She wants me, she loves me, two facts which will never cease to amaze me but which I nonetheless do recognize as real and true.

And she's prepared to offer herself up to me, all of herself, as she's offered herself to no one.

But it's more than that. So much more.

I've read her journal before. It's... it's extraordinary.

But what I read was of her life before she left Seattle.

I'm deathly afraid of learning the truth of the past three years.

I know she's been sick.

I know she's been depressed.

I know she's missed me.

Good God, I've missed her.

But I'm so frightened that, in learning about the past three years, I'll be able to pinpoint one point at which I could have done something or said something to change everything.

Or maybe, worse still, I'll be able to point out the inner motivations behind her act in the hotel room. Maybe she doesn't want me at all. Maybe she hasn't missed me at all. Maybe something trivial happened between her and Donny, and I'm just the buffer before she goes home. I could find out that, too. I could find out that I'm just a stage of her denial.

Or, perhaps worst of all, I could find out that she honestly, sincerely, forever loves me.

I've known it for years, but I've managed to distance myself, because always, she was gone, she was inaccessible. Will I know how to accept her love? Do I have enough self-confidence, enough determination, enough strength to do that?

I had been walking for what felt like years when I found myself in front of the home of Auguste Rodin, sculptor extraordinaire. The museum itself was, of course, closed, as were the gates to the garden, but, exploring the gates in the back, I found a low point which I was, amazingly, able to climb over – not with ease, though. Imagine Hugh Grant in that film released a few years ago, Notting Hill, and you've got me, complete with the "whoopsey-daiseys!" Thank God no one was here to see me, now. Climbing over a wooden gate in a thousand-dollar Armani suit.

Thankfully, no alarms went off.

What a mess THAT would have been.

I walked over the Thinker and sat below him, a feeling of anger enveloping me.

"How can you have all the answers?" I inquired under my breath.

"Maybe he doesn't," came the answer. "Maybe it's all an act."

Now I'm hearing her voice in my head. I lowered my head and squeezed my eyes shut. "You follow me everywhere, don't you, Daphne? I can't escape you."

There was quiet for a moment before she replied, in a timid voice, "Would you like for me to leave?"

What?

I stood and spun to face her. She was standing about a hundred yards away. "No. Don't leave. Stay."

She nodded and took a few steps toward me hesitantly. "You certainly took your time getting here."

"I wandered around for a while."

She smiled, just slightly, very skeptically. "You? Wandering around in the dark in a large, dangerous city? I find that hard to believe." I held her gaze, and her smile faded. "Why did you leave?"

"I was overwhelmed. Daphne, you can't blame me for that."

She shook her head, and for the first time I noticed the glistening of her teary eyes. "No, you're not allowed to be overwhelmed. You're the one who came here after me." She walked toward me, covering half the distance that had separated us.

"And that's supposed to make me secure? The fact that I'm the one coming TO something instead of running AWAY from everything? Maybe it makes me brave, all right, but you can be brave and scared at the same time."

She looked up timidly. Her voice was a whisper. "Are you scared of me?"

I nodded. What else could I do?

"Why?"

"I'm scared because you've caused me more pain than anyone else in my life, and I don't know that I could stand another rejection."

"You won't have to."

I took a timid step across the chasm.

"I'm scared because all day you've seemed so confident, so secure about your life and your intentions."

"But I'm not."

A few more steps, so that we were standing quite close.

"I'm scared of what you offered me tonight."

"What did I offer?"

"Everything. And it scared me."

"But if you don't take some chances in your life, Niles –"

I gazed at her intently. "I've taken my share of chances where you're concerned. I think it's time that you took a chance."

She took a deep breath. Watched me. Lowered her eyes. Raised them again. Another deep breath. "May I kiss you?"

I grinned ecstatically, perhaps even slightly maniacally. "Oh, my God, yes."

* * *

"Freddie?" I asked as I opened the door to my apartment.

My boy came bounding out of the hallway and toward me, holding his hand out for a "high five."

"Hey, Dad."

"Oh, Frederick, don't you think a handshake would be –" Oh, my God. What if Marc Goldberg does this? I let him slap my hand before I tucked the ailing member into my coat pocket. "So, Frederick, how about a movie?"

Lilith glared at our son. "Frederick, if you want to stay with your father tonight and watch a movie, you can, but I want it to be something of some educational value. I know that you watched Fight Club with Daphne a couple of weeks ago. Nothing like that, Frederick."

He nodded sincerely. "Of course, Mom."

She looked up at me. "Well, Frasier, I'll leave him with you, then. I'll be back in the morning to pick him up on the way to the airport."

She leaned forward, brushed a kiss over my cheek, straightened Frederick's hair with her hand, and was gone in a flourish.

"So, Frederick, I hear there's a fantastic new Kenneth Branagh in the theater. What do you say?"

"Actually, Dad, Night of the Living Dead was just rereleased in theaters. Daphne was going to take me, but she's gone now. Will you take me?"

I fumbled nervously and shifted my weight from foot to foot. What would Marc Goldberg do?

"Well, Frederick, your mother seemed to imply that she'd prefer an education venture..."

He pouted. "Aw, Dad, Daphne'd do it..."

And so would Marc Goldberg, I told myself.

"All right, Frederick," I replied as I led him out the door. "Night of the Living Dead it is. Just tell you're mom we watched the Discovery Channel, all right?"

He grinned. "All right."

I turned back toward the deceptively empty living room. "We'll be back later, Dad!"

He stuck his head out of the kitchen, beer in hand. "She's gone, right? I can watch tv now?"

I rolled my eyes. "She's gone, Dad. Goodnight."

"Night, son," he muttered as he made his way over to his chair. "Night, Freddie."

"Night, Gramps."

"So, Frederick," I asked as we walked into the hall together, "Tell me about this Doctor Goldberg..."

* * *

He kissed me. A real kiss. None of that good acting from the Snow Ball; no acting to fool an ex-fiance; not the barest hint of shared breath kiss reminiscent of the two we shared three years ago or the sad, final one in the airport that Christmas.

No, this kiss was passion.

Intensity.

Adoration.

Longing.

Remembrance.

Love.

I wrapped my arms around his back and pulled him into me. Through me. Buried myself in him. Devoured him.

Shocked him, I'm equally ashamed and exhilarated to state.

Breathless, he pulled back from me just long enough to bury his head in the crook of my neck. "Oh, God, Daphne. Daphne."

"So..." I began, my voice a whisper. "Was it everything you hoped it would be?"

"Oh, God," he repeated. "It was... extraordinary. What about... about you? Am I living up to your expectations?" Pause. "What WERE your expectations?"

"This. And it was... Niles..."

Which, of course, was when the ground lights came on.

"C'EST QUI LA?"

I leaned into Niles' shoulder and groaned. Oh, dear Lord. This will never bloody work, will it?

Niles looked up reluctantly from our embrace. How this must look! "Est-ce-qu'il y a un probleme... uh... officier?" he fumbled.

The broad-shouldered man glared at us for a moment in a way that terrified me, but then his shoulders slumped and he sighed. "Venez avec moi, vous deux," he muttered.

What? No, no, no. There was no way in bloody hell I was going to get taken in on my first night with him. "Ceci n'est pas ce qu'il ressemble, officier."

He looked up at me skeptically, shining his flashlight in my face. I glanced at Niles, whom I was clutching quite closely and who was shaking like a leaf. Ah, no way around it.

"Bien... mais peut-être c'est le cas." I paused. "Haven't you ever been in love, officer?" Said, of course, in French, although I suppose there's no point in quoting the entire interaction in anything other than my native tongue.

He eyed me again.

"Have you ever been married?"

A grunt in the affirmative. Progress. "Trente ans ce mois-ci." Er, thirty years this month.

"Think of how it started..." I pleaded in his language. "We've known each other for ten years. But this is the beginning..." I paused. Niles was gaping at me. "S'il vous plait, pourriez-vous nous laissez partir a notre hotel?"

The guard rolled his eyes and waved us out. "All right, all right. But hurry and get off the streets. It's too late to be out. And the best to both of you... from me and my wife."

We waved at him and ran together, arms still linked, out the gate and into the streets. "Daphne," he began. "Does this mean that... all those times Frasier and I spoke in French –"

I winked at him. "Oui." I paused. "Anche, io parlo italiano."

He gaped for a few moments. "Daphne?"

"Hmmm?"

He smiled a slow, sly grin. "You have no idea how sexy you are when you speak French..."

I tore away from him, then, and we ran back to the hotel, alternating between moments when he chased me and those few, rare moments when I let him catch me. And kiss me.

And it was paradise.

So deliriously happy was I that I forgot, for a night, about my anxious husband waiting for me to recover from my spell and return to him in Boston.

* * *

"So... Freddie."

I looked up at him skeptically. He'd been acting plain WEIRD all night. Like, "Freddie, do you want to try to drive?" Now, the very thought of my dad saying that to me... whoa. He's really protective about that BMW. And I've never actually driven... well... anything before... not to mention nighttime in Seattle...

I sighed. Movie-theater smells surrounded me: popcorn, soda, candies of every kind. "So... Dad."

"Do ya..." He punched me playfully. It hurt. "... want some... um... popcorn or something? We can get a... uh... jumbo size. And candy. And soft drinks. And... uh... oh, look, Freddie, video games! I'm sure I could get ten or twenty dollars in change for them!"

I glanced over at the machines. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? Never heard of it. "Uh, I don't think so, Dad."

"C'mon, son, no... food or anything?"

Actually, I'm watching my weight, trying to tone up and everything. Can you blame me? I'm in the eighth grade. I'm about to be fourteen. I'm getting up in my years.

And have you seen my dad?

Besides, I want to impress Daphne when she gets back from Paris.

"No, Dad, I'm not too hungry. Let's just watch the movie."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "So, son, does Marc Goldberg take you to the movies?"

What?

Oh. I get it...

This could be interesting...

"Yeah, actually, we saw a great one last weekend."

And I'm gonna milk it for all it's worth.

* * *

I came into consciousness one sense at a time.

First, I became aware of the sensations surrounding me. The feel of silk sheets against my skin. The down-filled pillow, perfectly formed, beneath my head. A glowing warmth which permeated me to the core.

Then, I became aware of the sounds bombarding me. Two layers of sounds. The top, cacophonous, was a French radio program that had apparently been set to turn on as an alarm. A French commentator lazily spouted news briefs from all over the world. But beneath that was a second layer, quite euphonious. Steady, rhythmic breathing interrupted at odd intervals by a soft mew.

Next was sight. I opened them slowly, carefully, but it didn't prevent the sunlight from invading my sensitive eyes. I saw various blurred images all around me. A small chandelier hanging in the center of the room. The gold-toned bed-posts which supported a silk canopy. The ornate, gold-toned mantle over the fireplace, designed to match the bed. The fainting couch in the middle of the room. The heavy draperies, drawn back to permit the intrusive light to enter.

And then smell.

Cherry bark and almonds. Lavender, peach blossoms, and vanilla. And the English countryside and heather and bourbon.

Oh, good God. This experience is enough to make me a religious man, a believer in miracles.

I realized for the first time, totally, absolutely where I was.

I was lying in bed, naked, pressed against Daphne.

My lover.

I turned to her and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her back into my chest.

I leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

Her taste...

Indescribable.

I leaned back just slightly so that my lips brushed her ear.

"It's morning, love."

She smiled absently, pulling herself out of slumber, and I watched the process, mesmerized.

"Oh, does it have to be? Can't we just stay here forever?"

I smiled. "Just because we're awake doesn't mean we can't stay... right here, love."

And so we stayed that way for quite some time, cherishing the feel of each other.

Our first morning together.

It was extraordinary.

I glanced around the ornate room. "This is an amazing room."

"Hmmm?" I glanced down at her and realized she was still half asleep. Smiling, I repeated my observation softly, into her ear. "Hmmmm. Oooh. Yes." She yawned and resumed absently, "That's what you get when you've got a rich husband to support you."

What?

Husband.

Daphne's married.

You know, when Maris and I separated, I didn't see anything wrong in my dating Daphne. I tried to ask her several times. But, always, though she didn't know my intention, she expressed her refusal to be involved with a separated man.

She's separated, but she's still married.

You know, at Frasier's, and then on the plane, and then on the streets, and then in the museum, and at dinner, and in the garden, and then... here, last night... I continually thought of her as mine. Not as in my property, I would never think of her as such. More in the sense of a mutual ownership.

But she's not mine at all.

She's married.

"Niles, what's wrong?"

"I – I –" Well, I couldn't breathe, for one thing. I sat up, made a grab for the dressing gown the hotel had provided, and went to sit at the bay window, burying my head between my knees in that position I'm so intimately familiar with.

She clothed herself in a similar robe and ran over to me, kneeling before me. "Niles, what's wrong?"

"I –" I looked up at her. Her eyes were wide and doe-like, her hair mussed and gorgeous, her lips pouty and perfect, her eyes intense and soul-searching.

But I couldn't talk to her. Not then.

I lifted her hand from my shoulder and gave it back to her. "I need to be alone."

Hurt flew across her face briefly, but then she nodded, stood, and left for the bathroom.

She emerged minutes later dressed, crossed to the door quietly, opened it, and left without saying a word to me.

What have I done?

* * *

We'd gotten back to Boston just moments before, but I had managed to figure the entire thing out.

Frasier's odd, hurt behavior around Frederick. Frederick's expensive new microscope set: a gift from his father.

As I ushered my son into my townhouse in Boston's Back Bay, I glared at him. "Explain."

He looked up at me, apprehension crossing his face.

Good.

"Explain what, Mom?"

"You've found yet another amusing way to manipulate your poor father. What is it?"

He looked down at his microscope set guiltily. "Nothing, Mom. This was entirely unsolicited."

I sighed. "Frederick, you know how sensitive your father is. Does this relate in any way to Marc?"

He was weakening. I fixed him with a glare.

"Frederick..."

"All right, all right, yes. I'm sorry, Mom! But I wanted this set so much! Everyone at school has this set!"

"Frederick, do you think that means that you can lie to your father?"

He glared at me. Imagine! "I didn't say I lied to him! I didn't do anything wrong! He wanted to be nice to me! Which is more than you ever want to do! I want Daphne to come home!"

With that, he ran up the stairs into his room and slammed his door behind him.

I know it's his age.

All thirteen-year olds are rebellious little monsters.

But he's been like this ever since Daphne left. He's been miserable. And he won't talk to me. He barely looks at me.

Why do I feel like I've not only lost my best friend but now... my son as well?

* * *

"I had a vision early this morning. I couldn't sleep in anticipation of my early trip to the airport. I turned and looked at the clock. It was a little before four. I lay back down on Lilith's sofa-bed, closed my eyes, and there it was. My vision. The first one I've had since that evening in the kitchen in Hingham with Niles. When I saw... what I saw.

"It was... him. In Paris. Waiting for me.

"Could it only be a dream?"

I sat curled up in the hotel bed where she'd been beside me so recently, thumbing through her journal, kleenex pressed firmly to my nostril.

Yes, I felt terribly guilty, but...

The painting above the words was... was me. Standing in the rain outside her hotel room. Everything was dark, although it was obviously Paris, except for... me. I was standing beneath a streetlamp gazing fixedly in her direction.

She saw this.

And she had come here in the hope of my coming after her.

And suddenly, all insecurities flew from me. She was here. She wanted to be with me. And, as far as I could tell, she wanted to be with me forever.

And just then, by providence, or sheer luck, or something, the door creaked open slowly, and she walked in hesitantly. Her eyes fell first upon the journal. She looked distinctly uncomfortable and looked down. I smiled and gasped out, "Daphne. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm ruining this. I'm so, so sorry."

She shook her head and attempted a tight smile. "I understand. This is hard. It's been... it's been... a long time."

I held my arms out to her, and she slowly came to me. "I love you, Daphne."

"I love you, too, Niles."

I held her, then, simply held her, until we both fell asleep.

* * *

I walked toward my booth, holding that white monster on his leash, fighting to keep my footing against the dog's strength.

Either Daphne had him trained exceptionally well for those little runs of hers, or she was deceptively strong. I'd have to remember not to get on her bad side...

As I rode up on the elevator, monster-dog sitting beside me, I watched the buttons on the wall, and I realized for the first time why Daphne'd pushed "EMERGENCY STOP" all those years before.

I was terrified to see Roz.

Oh, yes, I might mention the circumstances.

Roz had gotten back from the home-land the night before. I hadn't picked her up at the airport as I usually did when she came back from trips, claiming to be suffering from a back-ache. She forgave me, of course, because she always does.

The real reason I didn't want to see her, though, is that I still feel... odd about my time with Lilith. About my assumption about her intentions, about the disappointment I felt when I found out my mistake.

All right, yes, I feel horridly, horridly guilty.

I love Roz.

But Lilith...

Damn seductress.

I love Roz.

But I don't know if I can face her. She'll know. The second she sees my face, she'll know.

I reached my hand out toward that fateful button which first seemed to set into motion the long chain of events that has left me here and my brother in...

Paris.

But before I could do anything, the doors opened, and there the monster dog and I were, face to face with a much annoyed Roz.

I can always tell when she's annoyed. She stands with her hands on her hips, her head cocked to the side, and a expectant look on her face. The look that tells you, "This had better be good, Frasier, or you're a dead man."

"This had better be good, Frasier, or you're a dead man."

I bowed my head. Sebastian cowered.

"You're thirty minutes late! I've been trying to cover your ass for thirty minutes! What did I do to deserve this my first day back?"

Oh, Lord. Now I felt even more guilty. I held my hands out. "I brought you a dog, honey..."

She rolled her eyes, grabbed the dog's leash, turned on her heels, and stalked back to her booth. Funny, the mongrel seems to behave for her...

I shook my head. She was already mad at me, and I hadn't even told her what I'd done. This wasn't going to be easy...

I stepped into my booth, looking up at her doubtfully as I sat down in my trusty chair. She didn't look at me. She had her headphones on and was gazing intently at the call panel.

I paused. Things between the two of us were quickly becoming serious. We'd spent our first night together... well, in a non-platonic sense... just before she'd left.

Epiphany!

Perhaps THAT'S what caused my hesitance about Lilith... I'm scared of what I have with Roz. She's scared, too. And our distance this weekend had made it that much scarier, because it'd given us both too much time to think.

After all, Roz is the first woman since Lilith that I've considered spending the rest of my life with...

I glanced up at her. She was still staring at that damn panel.

I sighed. I had to end this. "Damn it, Roz, don't you think I'm scared, too? But that's what happens when you fall in love with your best friend!"

She looked up, shocked. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth opened and closed absently. I grinned. For once, I'd given myself the upper hand.

Of course, the smile faded when she shot me a sly grin, saying, "Frasier, you're on the air."

My eyes widened as I scrambled for my microphone. "That is to say... Good afternoon, Seattle!" ...

* * *

I sat tensely in his arms as we sat by the Seine. I wondered if he could feel my unease.

Unease? you might ask. Why are you uneasy? For the first time in your whole bloody life, Daph, you should be happy.

And I am...

I think...

In Grammy Moon's house, there was a bookshelf that spanned a whole wall.

Sometimes, I would spend the whole summer with Grammy Moon. While my brothers worked with my dad on the docks, I would stay with her. We would sit on the porch together every day, and she would tell me wonderful stories about Dad and Mum or about her life or about our ancestors. Or she would walk with me through the fields that spanned from her backyard... to forever, as far as I was concerned. Or she would invite the boy down the street, her friend's grandson who was a year older than me, over to spend the day with us. She taught us how to read palms. She taught us how to play backgammon. She made us lemonade. Sometimes she left us alone all day. I got my first kiss from that boy.

But as I got older, Grammy began to get sick. I spent my eleventh summer at Grammy Moon's house, but she spent a lot of that summer in bed.

Grammy had a whole wall of books in her house. They ranged from a book of hexes and other sorts like that to real literature.

That summer, while Grammy lay in bed, I read Anna Karenina.

Anna always struck me, and for a long time, I wanted to be her.

After all... what did Levin say? "She has wit; she had grace; she had beauty. But above all, she had truth." Anna was bewitching. Every man fell in love with her; every woman feared her.

When I painted that portrait of myself, that stupid portrait that Niles claimed, it was with Anna in mind. Levin, faithful forever to dull Kitty, fell in love with that portrait of Anna.

It wasn't until I was quite older – until recently, even, upon rereading the book – that I truly understood Tolstoy's criticism of Anna. Anna wanted too much at the expense of too much else. She may be a tragic heroine, but she is not the one who is happy. Anna dies. Anna kills herself.

Though I may once have wanted desperately to be Anna (with all my little adolescent heart), to win the heart of the dashing Count Vronsky and spurn the dim husband, Karenin, while ignoring the criticism of society, I just can't idealize that anymore.

But I am her, now, aren't I? Well, maybe Niles isn't so dashing as Vronsky. Maybe I'm not so beautiful or alluring as Anna. Maybe the love we share isn't so full of fear and doubt – or maybe it is.

I don't want to be her.

No, I don't think he could feel the unease. I glanced back at him and sighed. "I think it's time to go home, Niles."

He smiled softly and leaned down, his mouth next to my ear. "What, love, you mean you don't want to stay in Paris forever?"

I looked away.

He sighed and leaned back. "All right. When? Next week?"

"Tomorrow."

He was frowning, I know. "All right. We can book two flights to Seattle for tomorrow."

When I didn't say anything, he got worried.

"Daphne? Love?"

"A flight to Seattle and a flight to Boston." I glanced up at him. His head was bowed, and he was frowning. "Niles? You understand, don't you? I need to straighten everything out at home..."

He stood and walked away from me, his trenchcoat billowing. "Yes. I understand."

I sighed. "No, you don't. You don't at all. All I'm saying is that I need to –"

He turned. "Then let's book two tickets to Boston. I'll come with you."

"No! I need time alone." He nodded as if the word has clarified everything.

"Then maybe I should leave this afternoon."

I sighed. He wasn't going to make this easy. But if he needed to be mad at me, I didn't mind. I'd rather him be mad at me than mad at himself. And I'd rather him be either than for him to come with me to Boston.

I need to face Donny. I need to resolve things with him. That's all got to be over before I see Niles again. It's the only thing that's fair. For Donny. For Niles. For me.

But it's more than just that.

I feel that very few things in my life are truly mine. Only mine.

England – my brothers'. My mother's. I gave it up when I left for America.

Grammy Moon's house – was mine. And Grammy Moon was just mine. But she died.

My house – that's Donny's.

Seattle – the Cranes'.

The shore of Scituate – was mine. I offered it to Niles. Now it's his, too.

My art – was mine. I offered that to Niles, too. He rejected it and then took it. It's not just mine anymore, either.

Even my dog, poor dumb mutt that he is, the darling. He's staying with Roz now. And somehow, that makes him less mine.

So what is mine?

Billy and Stephen – they're mine.

And somehow, Boston is mine. Regardless of how long Doctor Crane once lived there – it's mine now.

The Common, in the snow – that's mine.

Quincy Market, in autumn – that's mine.

Filene's Basement, the day an item of clothing I've wanted has hit the 75% off mark – that's mine.

Seeing the best films at the Kendall Theatre – that's mine.

Shopping on Newbury Street – that's mine. Mine and Lilith's.

Lilith and Freddie – my friendship with them is mine, mine alone. Strangely, considering their relationship with Doctor Crane.

I need to find all that. To feel that – that something is mine, mine alone.

And then I'll be able to go back to Seattle. Gladly. Finally.

But not before that.

* * *

And that was it. I looked at her, begging her with my eyes to ask me to stay, wondering what had happened. She didn't say anything in response, just nodded slightly and looked away. So I walked away. Not really planning on leaving her; not until she said, resolutely, "I'll call you as soon as I get to Boston."

I nodded. So that was the answer. I was leaving.

"I love you."

I smiled sadly, my back still turned. "I love you, too, Daphne."

Now, I sat in the airplane that was taking me back to Seattle. This familiar feeling: our leaving each other.

It wasn't supposed to turn out like this. This week was supposed to be... perfect.

I suppose not everything can be perfect. And with human relations, there is no such thing as perfect, because we're fallible.

I can tell myself that time and time again and still never truly believe it.

When the flight attendant told us to fasten our seatbelts, I had pulled the strap tight around my lap, leaned my head back against the seat, and closed my eyes.

Once again, I was in coach. This time, I didn't mind. It fit my mood.

Or I wouldn't have, if I had been sitting between two businessmen. Or two quiet children.

No. The curse continued; I now found myself between two loud, large women. I was jolted awake an hour into the flight by the loud discussion they held, leaning over me so as to hear each other better. They bemoaned their lives in a manner that made me almost feel guilty for my own pain.

After all, Daphne did love me. She does love me. I had no right to expect this week to be perfect; we were nervous, scared. She's married. And I did as much running as she did.

She says she's coming back to Seattle. To be with me. That's all that matters.

And as I listened to these women bond over tragedy and travail, I began to hate them for the guilt they made me feel. I closed my eyes tightly and pretended to be asleep, tried to forget my seemingly trivial and unwarranted pain.

As I stepped off the plane hours later into an airport where no one was waiting to meet me, I reassured myself with a simple thought: she'll be home soon. Let her come home soon.


	5. Part V: Daphne Rediscovered

**Rediscovering Daphne: A Chronicle  
****Part IV: Daphne Rediscovered**

"Daphne –"

"Shh, Stevie! This is the best part!" my brother whispered harshly. I looked gratefully at Billy, then immediately back to Colin on the television.

"Here it comes... Well, it's the best part, except for the wet shirt scene..."

Billy grinned. "I love that scene. Can we forward it to that after this? Can we?"

I glared. "Telling Stevie to be quiet, and you're making as much noise as he is. Oh, here! Here!"

And then, there he was, in all his dark-haired beauty, looking passionate and breathing hard. "In vain have I struggled, it will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

Billy and I let out the breath we'd been holding and giggled. "Ahhh! How can she reject him? How can he be so gorgeous?"

My brother winked at me. "He can't help it. None of them can. I wish I were that gorgeous."

I glared at him. "What are you talking about, you daft git? You're the spitting image of Hugh Grant. Bernard's a fool to leave you. He'll be back before he can say, 'In vain have I struggled, it will not do–'"

He grinned and elbowed me. "I do look rather like Hugh, don't I? Except without the sex scandals on my resume. I always wondered why women are always chasing me around London." He glanced back at the television. "Oh, oh! Look how dashing he looks, standing there by the mantle, all out of breath. He's thinking, 'Why would she reject me? Aren't I handsome enough?'"

My other brother, whose London flat we sat in, rolled his eyes at us from the doorway to the kitchen. "That series came out over five years ago, and the whole country is still obsessed with damn Darcy. Why can't the whole country be obsessed with me, instead? Like he really deserves it. Look at his sideburns. It's unconscionable."

I giggled. "It's not him, per se, Stevie. It's the Darcy image – dashing and romantic. No woman –" I glanced at Billy. "No one at all, in fact, can resist it. If you want the country to be obsessed with you, you should start saying things to Sarah like, 'In vain have I struggled, it will not do –'" Billy laughed.

"I should think not. I'd be a laughing stock. Bollocks to your Mr. Darcy." He went back into the kitchen and left me to fast forward to the Colin Firth wet shirt scene for Billy.

He watched it for a bit as it fast forwarded. "Stop... right... here. Good." We watched, I with my head on his shoulder, he with his arm around me. "Right," Colin was saying. "So... how're your parents?" I sighed. "So," began Billy. "You've been here two days, we've watched Pride and Prejudice three times, and you still haven't explained to me what's going on that you're here at all."

I didn't say anything. Of course, I need to talk to them – it's why I was there – but I wasn't sure if I was ready yet.

"The last time I heard from you, you and Donny had just had some huge fight. And now you're here alone. Is it over?"

I nudged him. "Shh, Billy, this is a good part."

"Daph, you have the whole series memorized, and we can rewind. Besides, I tend to find Elizabeth's aunt and uncle exceedingly dull. Are you and Donny split up?"

I sighed. "Yes," I muttered into his shirt.

He didn't say anything for a little bit, just watched the screen. Finally, he retorted, "It's about bloody time."

I looked up at him, startled. He was grinning.

"Oh, don't be a bore, Daphne," he said as he pulled me back down. I giggled. "Miss Bennet," Colin was saying, "I was wondering if you'd do me the honor of allowing me introduce you to my sister..." My brother squeezed my shoulder. "And how about that adorable chap in Seattle who's so crazy about you? Come to your senses about him?"

I started and watched him carefully just as my other brother came out and threw himself down on the sofa to my other side. "Yes, Daphne, what's become of that?"

"What's become of Sarah?" I shot back. "Can't we just watch Pride and Prejudice? I think it's illegal to talk during the romantic parts."

Billy pointed. "Look. Part four just ended. I'm shutting it off."

"That should be illegal, too. Part five begins with Elizabeth's trip to Pemberley. He spends the whole time gazing at her smolderingly."

Stevie elbowed me. "Like your chap in Seattle does you. So. Spill, Daphne. I only let most people stay in my flat a day before they explain why they're here. You've been here two. If you don't tell, out you go."

I sighed. "Fine, fine! Donny and I split up, and I went to Paris. And then I came here."

Stevie looked wholly unimpressed, and Billy threw me his best naughty -Hugh-Grant-from-Bridget-Jones look. "That's not all. I know it. This conspicuous mark on your neck gives you away. Unless you went and hired a gigolo in Paris..."

I slapped at his hand. "All right, all right! Niles was in Paris! Are you happy?"

Billy glared at me. "No. You left him again?"

What? Again? "No. I told him I needed to work things out alone. And what do you mean, again?"

Stevie grinned as he stood up to go back into the kitchen to finish dinner. "He's right, Daph. That poor man has been rejected by you more times than I can count. If Sarah did that to me –"

I turned to him . "You'd still be chasing after her, anyhow. You know, if you weren't such a bloody idiot, she'd come back of her own accord." Stevie glared at me and went back into the kitchen.

Billy tapped me on the shoulder. "You remember how Darcy felt in Darcy's Story after Elizabeth rejected him – 'When a man has been accustomed since–'"

My older brother called from the kitchen, still sounding a bit annoyed, "You two are pathetic, you know that?"

Billy shook his head. "The point is, he was only rejected once! You leave your chap in Seattle to get married, then you refuse him when he practically proposes to you in Boston, and now this? A man's only got so much strength, Daph."

"Bernard's done the same to you."

"And you, my dear sister, perhaps rightly despise him for it. Love's blinded me to his bitchiness. You, Daphne, to be perfectly honest, are being a bitch." He paused. "And you know, Daph," he said with mock sincerity, "at the very least, you could have some respect for your family. Stevie's marriage is in a shambles and will be until he apologizes to Sarah, and Bernard's left me once again, this time for a Scottish, kilt-wearing football player. You are the one among us who has the chance to get things right, here, Daph, and look at you, sitting here in your brother's flat, watching Pride and Prejudice like a Bridget Jones groupie."

I glared at him. "Seriously, though, Billy," I sighed. "I told Niles once that if I'd learned anything from Mum and Dad, it was to never give up. I told him that was why I couldn't leave Donny. No matter what obstacles they were faced with, Mum and Dad never gave up. If Donny and I divorce – won't I be giving up? Just like I said I wouldn't?"

Billy looked at me thoughtfully for a few minutes and then spoke slowly. "Did it never occur to you, Daphne, that maybe, that time in the airport – you didn't give up on... the wrong thing?"

* * *

"She said she needed to work through things in Boston?" I asked him. He nodded as he sipped his coffee. "Don't worry, Niles. I mean, after all, you've got to admit it would've been awkward – her trying to call things off with Donny with you waiting for her in a hotel across town. It would seem almost as if she were leaving him for you. But she's not, Niles. Not really. She's leaving him for her. You've got to respect her feelings on this one. This is her whole life."

He nodded again. "I know, Roz, but it still hurts. That she doesn't want me with her. I don't know. She hasn't called yet, and she said she would as soon as she got to Boston. It's been a few days, Roz. What if she's back with him?"

He sounded so pathetic I couldn't not reassure him. "Niles, she's not going back to him. When she was here in Seattle, she made it obvious that it had been coming on for a while. And it's not like he's so irresistible that she'll just be drawn into bed with him before she can help herself –"

He glared at me. "Thank you. Exactly the image I wanted in my mind."

I put up my hands defensively. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm just making a point."

"Then why hasn't she called me?"

Argh. I was getting sick of this conversation. If she didn't come back soon, I was going to hate her not just for him but for ME. After all, I was the one who was going to have to listen to this. "I don't know, Niles! Don't you have to be at work?"

He sighed. "Yes, yes. When you see Frasier, tell him I'll call him tonight, all right?"

When I see Frasier.

We've been dating for almost a year, and I still find it hard to believe. It's unlike any relationship I've ever had. We're completely comfortable with each other; there're none of the discomforts of any of the other relationships I've been in, none of the insecurities. It's just like our friendship, only with that added dimension of – forever. And I've never had a relationship with that particular dimension. We've been dating for almost a year, and still just thinking about being with him, about him at all, sort of makes me – smile.

It's so weird. Am I in the Twilight Zone yet?

Of course, speak – or think – of the devil, and the devil will appear. And so he did as he came waltzing through the doors of Café Nervosa. "Roz, Roz, Roz, I've got a surprise for you," he began as he sat down.

I raised an eyebrow as I took another sip of my coffee. "Which would be –"

"A big surprise. Huge. I was thinking we could have dinner." He reached up and touched my cheek. Little things like this remind me that we're more than we used to be.

"So I'm finally getting that raise?"

He looked almost hurt, the big idiot. "Well, no, I, uh, I..."

I punched his arm. Trust insecurity to make the eloquence Frasier prides himself on completely disappear. "I'm kidding. Can Martin watch Alice?"

He nodded, looking sort of relieved. "Of course, of course. I'll pick you up at – seven?"

I nodded, and he smiled, kissed me quickly, and left.

* * *

When I got back to my office from my lunch break, the flashing light from my answering machine caught my attention. Mrs. Woodson was away sick today, so the machine was left to catch my messages. I pressed the button, and it began to play.

Silence. At first. Then static. And then her voice. My heart jumped into my throat. "Niles." A pause. "Niles, hello." She wouldn't be so cruel as to tell me she and Donny had patched things up on my answering machine. She wouldn't. "I'm in England. I'm staying with Stevie. I just wanted –" Another pause. "I just wanted to hear your voice. I tried to call the Montana. So... so I suppose I'll call back later. When I get to Boston. Yes. Eh – all right." I wanted to cry that I hadn't been here. I was desperate to talk to her. "Goodbye. I love you."

It was all right. Everything was going to be all right. I loved her, and she loved me, and everything was going to work out. A little late, granted. But a little late, when compared to never, is the most wonderful time in the world.

* * *

I looked up at Niles, who sat across the table from me. I tried to think back to when we met. Could it really have been five years ago? Could it really have been only five years? So much has happened since then. Engaged to him, left by him, involved with him, disappointed by him, and now... engaged to Michael. Our wedding was in less than a week. It was hard for me to believe.

What was harder for me to believe was that, after ten years, Niles was still pining after the British bitch who had broken his heart so many times. But I suppose Niles is nothing if not weak.

Or does this make him strong?

Damn it, I don't know.

"I can't describe how being with her, after all these years, felt. I was... oh, God, Mel, I just felt free! So free, in fact, the one night, I let her take me to the bank of the Seine and –"

No more! "Stop, Niles! I don't need to know."

He looked thrilled. Happier than I've ever seen him, I think. His eyes were sparkling, and he didn't seem to be able to stop smiling. And he hadn't seen her in a week. Of course, I guess when, previously, he hadn't seen her in two years, a week is nothing.

But at the same time, I felt that it was wrong. She has an incredible power over him, and she knows it. And so she's able to string him along as much as she wants, and he will never complain.

Believe it or not, I care about Niles. I care about his feelings. I want him to be happy. I'm afraid for him.

And what was his attraction to her, at any rate? So she has an accent. It's not a terribly sophisticated one. Maybe she's attractive. But really... I didn't understand at all.

Meanwhile, he had stopped. "I'm sorry, Mel, I got a little carried away. But the point is... she'll be here soon. Finally. She'll be mine. I'm just..." He smiled. It wasn't the giddy smile that had covered his face during his talk of their sexual exploits. It was just – pure happiness. Amazing.

I hated to burst the dream he was living, but I wanted him to be prepared – for the worst. "And she's told you when she's coming home?"

He looked confused. "Well, after she settles things with Donny. If you mean the date... well, no, not exactly..."

I reached over and put my hand over his. "Niles... she's done this before. She's let you believe whatever you needed to believe, and then she hasn't acted. Are you sure she's telling the truth, this time?"

He looked crushed. As though her indiscretion had never crossed his mind.

It probably hadn't. Or perhaps he simply wouldn't let it.

Then he set his features in determination. "Daphne would never lie to me. She never has. She's never been anything but honest. Those times she told me she loved me... She never attempted to make me believe that we could be together. Never. This is real. She means it. We're going to be together for the rest of our lives."

I tried to smile. "I hope you're right, Niles."

He looked down at his plate a bit nervously, stirred his salad around, and looked back up. "And speaking of forever, have you decided on a honeymoon spot?"

A happier topic. I smiled. "Well, you know, I've always wanted to visit Tibet..."

* * *

I lay with my head in my brother's lap as we watched The Widow of St. Pierre. What is it with me and romantic movies, lately? But this little theatrical exercise was solely for the benefit of my older brother.

Billy was out with Bernard, who claimed that the stint with the football player was merely "confusion." Bloody Bernard.

Stevie leaned back and grumbled to himself. "I don't understand this film, Daph. If I were this bloke you're so enamoured with, I would've killed the bloody prisoner before I let him set foot near my wife. This is completely unrealistic."

I sat up. "That's it. That's why we're watching this. That's why Sarah left. Because of your jealous fits." I paused the video and pointed to Daniel Auteuil, looking very sexy standing on the pier. "Jean is so in love with Pauline that he trusts her completely. He knows that she would never betray him."

He rolled his eyes. "I don't know about that, Daph. That scene where she's teaching him how to read is pretty scandalous."

I slapped his arm. "It's not, though! Pauline's desperately in love with Jean. The prisoner is in love with her, yes, but she views him as her... protégé. Jean knows that, because he knows her. Did you hear what he just said? She says, 'What's that look?' And he says, 'The look of a man who is in love and can read his wife's mind.' You see, you big git? He knows her well enough to know that she's telling him the truth! Like Sarah told you the truth! You're just too stubborn to see it."

He didn't look at me. "And how do you know their names, anyway? Do they even have names?"

I glared. "Of course they have names, you bleeding idiot. You just have to listen carefully. But don't change the subject. You see, at the end, she tells us the truth: 'I will remain forever Madame La, his widow.' She loved the prisoner, but she wasn't in love with him." I felt triumphant.

He looked doubtful. "I can't believe you're trying to base my life upon a movie in a language I don't even understand. My life's not a movie or television miniseries. And neither is yours."

"And just what do you mean by that?"

He lifted an eyebrow. "Everything can't always be perfect. There's no perfect moment or perfect feeling. And above all, you can't just push pause and sit here waiting for as long as you please. Life goes on, and you've got to make some decisions for once in your life. Now come to terms with the decision you've already made, go back to Boston, get your divorce, and go to Seattle."

"You could do to heed your own advice."

He sighed. "Do you want me to call her right now? Is that what you're getting at?"

I smiled. "Would you?"

He sighed and looked at me doubtfully. "I don't think she wants to talk to me. She hasn't rung my answerphone in a week."

"Because you haven't rung her. Call!"

And he did. And then he went to see her. And the next day, I was on a plane to Boston.

* * *

Roz looked up at me from her plate. "So, Frasier, you get me to leave Alice with Martin, you drag me out here telling me you have news, and then you don't say a word. Want to spill, already?"

I took a deep breath. "All right, Roz." Another deep breath. "Roz, I've been thinking about this a while. And I decided to ask you..." Oh, good God. This is all wrong. Why am I doing this? "I thought I'd perhaps ask you what you'd think about perhaps..." I looked down at my hand and muttered, "moving in with me."

I heard a clattering of silverware and glasses, and when I looked up, Roz was staring at me open-mouthed, her thankfully already empty wineglass lying in pieces on her plate. "Are you crazy?"

Oh, Lord. I knew this was a bad idea. And I was a little scared of that look in her eye. I must've looked like a deer in the headlights. "Yes, yes, I'm sorry, don't be mad at me. Just a thought. Heh." I looked back down at my plate.

When I looked back up, she was still watching me, oblivious to the poor waiter who was scrambling around her to pick up the shards of glass. "Wow. This is big."

"Um." I looked down. "Yes."

She shook her head. "I'm just surprised, is all." She paused. "What about... Martin?"

I swallowed. "Well, I've been thinking about this. He's been living with me for ten years. Maybe he could move in with Niles, now."

She smiled slightly. "Don't know how Daphne would react to that."

My brow wrinkled. That took me off guard. "Roz... you really, truly think she's coming back?" I have faith in Daphne. But what my brother wants from her is huge. I just don't know if she can give it to him...

"I hope so, Frasier. I really, really hope so."

We resumed eating our dinner until I couldn't contain myself any longer. "Is your answer no, then?"

She smiled and shook her head. "No, Frasier. My answer is... maybe. Give me time, all right?"

* * *

"So, Daphne," I began as we strolled down Newbury Street. She paused in front of Giorgio Armani, gazing in the window. "I suppose Paris was everything you expected it to be?"

She looked up at me nervously and smiled. "Everything and more, Lilith."

I watched her carefully. "No regrets?"

She sighed. "No room for regrets."

This was going nowhere at a rapid rate. "Have you made a decision?"

She nodded absently. "I think so."

Hmm. "Are you going to leave Donny?"

"Yes. I can't... yes."

I followed her as she walked into Armani, running her hand lightly over the clothes as she walked around absently. Her new, short haircut bounced nonchalantly around her chin. I reached up unconsciously to touch my own short style. So many changes. "Are you going to Seattle?"

"As soon as I'm ready."

I gazed at her for a few moments. "He loves you."

She paused and looked at me questioningly, as if trying to determine which one I meant. I suppose it's true regardless. They all love her. So she nodded. "Yes, he does."

I raised an eyebrow. "You should have seen him before he left, Daphne. He was... shall I say... even more neurotic than usual?"

She held up a v-necked cashmere sweater in front of her. "Do you like this?"

I was growing impatient. "Daphne, will you stop for one second and explain to me what you're planning to DO? Do you actually have a plan? You haven't said a word about any of this since I picked you up at the airport yesterday."

She looked up at me. "To be honest, I'm still working it out. I don't know exactly what to say to Donny, you see."

Right. "Well, you know, the good news is that you don't have to know exactly what you're going to say. Even if you planned every word, it would come out not at all right." I paused. "And Daphne... maybe sooner would be better."

She all but ignored me. "Do you think this dress would be flattering on me, Lilith?" She held up a silky purple article.

"I think it would look fantastic, as does everything on you." Sternly, then: "Daphne."

She looked at me a bit desperately. "I know, I know. But Lilith, it's so much more than just talking to him. Talking to him sets in motion a whole chain of events. After I talk to him, we have to get the papers in order. That will take a few days. And then, I have to start moving my things out." She looked at me, defeat on her face. "I've failed at this. This is the third time in the past ten years that I've failed at... failed at life. The third time I've had to pack up my old life and create something new. And I can't help wondering if it says something about me. Says that I'll always fail."

She sighed. "But you're wrong, Daphne. Packing up, leaving, starting anew... that's not failing at all. That's continuing. And besides, Daphne, you can't forget that this time, you're going home."

She nodded solemnly, her new short haircut bouncing around her chin. "Now... try on that dress so we can get some lunch."

* * *

"I do."

And then, it was over. Frasier and Dad were at home, trying to organize my father's belongings well enough to make the transition to my apartment easy, so Roz sat beside me as my date.

Probably not a good thing, considering the fact that she more or less loathes Mel. In fact, as Mel and Michael walked together down the aisle on their way toward the car that would take them to their reception and, then, to the airport, she glared evilly at her back. I sunk lower in my seat, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

It was hard to believe that, in a few days, Roz would be living with Frasier. Little Alice would be living in my father's room. At least she won't be staying in Daphne's room. It's Frasier's study, now, but he still doesn't use it any more often than necessary. I think, perhaps, every time he goes in, recalling Daphne's rage at his invasion of her privacy makes him scurry out again. So, though it's not as she left it, it still feels like her.

So many changes. Mel, married. Roz and Frasier, living together. Dad, moving in with... me? The whole world is falling apart and rebuilding, but Daphne's still gone.

The church was emptying, and Roz shoved me – harder than necessary, I might add – to rouse me from my daze. "C'mon, ya twerp."

Ah, what I love in a date. "You could be nice, you know. I invited you as a favor. You're the one who wanted to come."

Roz rolled her eyes. "I know, I know. To see all the snotty people you associate with so I can see what I'm up against by moving in with him."

"Your words, not mine. Are you ready?"

She nodded, and we strolled out of the church, her arm on mine. When we approached the car, she paused. "Niles, are you sure you don't have a problem with this whole arrangement? With your dad moving in with you? I mean, with Daphne coming home..."

I smiled wryly. I hadn't heard from her since that answering machine message a week ago. "Is she, though?"

She squeezed my hand. "She is, Niles. I know it. You've just got to be patient with her."

I nodded. I knew. And I trusted her completely. "I... I believe her, Roz." I smiled. "And I'm fine with taking Dad in. After all these years with Frasier, it's about time he and I bonded."

She nodded and got in the car, and we drove across town to Mel's reception.

* * *

"Frasier, for the fifth time, I think you're doing the right thing." Lilith practically growled into the phone as I sat with Frederick at the kitchen table. It's sort of funny, how much he still relies on her opinion and good wishes. "Lilith, what should I make for dinner tonight?" "Lilith, should I wear my blue tie or my green tie to work tomorrow?"

I glanced at Freddie. "Your father is insane, Freddie. I think you're going to be a much more level-headed adult than he could ever be."

He rolled his eyes. "I certainly hope so." I smiled at him. He's getting big. He's in eighth grade, now. His voice is getting deeper. He's getting broader across the shoulders and chest. He has his eye on a girl at his school.

"So, are you going out tonight, Freddie?"

He looked down timidly. "I thought maybe we could stay here tonight. Watch Night of the Living Dead. Or something."

I shook my head. What it is he likes so much about that movie, I'll never know. We must've watched it a couple dozen times, and it's got to be one of the worst movies ever made. But it was tradition. I grinned. "Ahem. Are they slow-moving, chief?"

He looked at me seriously. "Well, they're dead," he returned and then began to giggle. He may be getting older, but he still giggles.

"Are you sure you don't want to go out with your friends tonight, Fred?"

He looked over at me (he doesn't really look up at my anymore) a bit mournfully. "Well, yeah, Daph. I mean, you're here."

And, maybe for the first time, I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I had to leave Boston.

I looked down at him sternly. "Frederick, I'll be around for the rest of your life."

And, maybe for the first time, I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I would be.

"Go out with your friends. Tonight, I have something to do."

Now it was Lilith who, though still on the phone, looked down at me, the question in her eyes. Was I going to do it? I nodded. Yes. The time for fear was not now.

I turned back to Fred. He sat still. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go change and call that girl you're so keen on. Go, go!" I waved him out of the room. He grinned at me and ran upstairs to his room. An hour later, he and I were out the door together. First to drop Freddie off at the Kendall Movie Theatre to meet Gina.

Then to see Donny.

* * *

"This is strange, Frasier."

He glanced over at me from where he sat, safely on the other side of his sofa.

Our sofa. Dammit. Forgot again. "Bad strange?"

I shook my head. I sat, back straight, hands on my knees, eyeing the TV. Stiff. "Strange strange." I glanced around. "I mean... this is my living room, now, Frasier. This has been your living room for ten years, and now it's our living room."

He smiled timidly and reached for my hand. I gave it to him and turned toward him, relaxing a bit. "I think it might take some getting used to."

I nodded. "I keep thinking that I need to get home to pay the babysitter. But Alice is just in the next room."

Poor thing. He really did look scared.

More so when the huge, white blob that is Sebastian jumped onto his lap and started licking his face. "Get down! Get down, you beast! I should have handed you off to Lilith when I had the chance!"

I glanced at him evilly. "You know, Frasier, Daphne's going to reclaim him sooner or later. Now that we're living together, maybe we should look into getting a cat."

He growled as he leaned over to kiss me. "Don't you think about it, woman! I've got all the felines I can bear..."

I shot him my most seductive smile; inside I was celebrating. It would take a little getting used to, but this was going to work out.

* * *

This was NOT going to work out.

"Dad, when you drink beer, you've got to make sure to rinse the empty can, crush it, and put it in the recycling bin, like so." He grabbed my can from me and spun toward the sink, that weird girly bathrobe he wears flowing out around him. He ran some water into the can, poured the contents out, dried the bottom of the can, and sat it on the floor. And proceeded to try to crush it. "Like... so..." The can was resistant to my son's best effort, though, and pretty soon, he was taking his anger out on the poor thing, jumping up and down on it like a madman. Finally, he reached down, picked up the decidedly uncrushed can, and nonchalantly threw it into the blue bin under the sink. "Perhaps we don't really have to CRUSH the cans..."

I fixed my most bored glare at him. "Son, that beer was still half-full."

He turned back toward the sink, obviously annoyed. "It was half-empty, and it's late. I want to go to bed, and I don't want to wake up to an empty beer can on my piano."

This was definitely not going to work out.

"Son, I don't care how angry and scared you are. I'm sure as hell not gonna let you take it out on me. You can talk to me about it, or you can shut your trap."

That got to him, I think. He slumped into a chair, his elbows resting on his kitchen table. His head fell into his hands, his blonde hair falling around his face. His hair'd grown longer in the past few years. It sort of looked the way it did ten or so years ago. He looked younger. Or he usually did. Tonight, he looked haggard.

He mumbled something into his hands. Which I didn't hear. So I made my way over to the table and sat beside him. "What, son?"

He glanced up. His eyes were red. "What if she doesn't come home, Dad? What will I do?"

I looked at him somberly and patted him on the back. "If she doesn't come home, you'll get on with your life son. Without her. You can do that. I know you can. You're strong." I stopped to gather my thoughts. He was looking up at me kind of pleadingly, like...

I didn't have much to do with raising my boys. Not because I didn't love them or want to be involved, mind you. I was with the Force back then, and I wasn't home a whole lot in the first place. I suppose they missed me – they always seemed pretty relieved when I came home, and Niles told me once a while back how scared he used to be as a kid when I'd go off on assignment. But as time went by, the boys sort of lost interest in the things that mattered to me.

Hester was an incredible woman. She was smart and sincere and gorgeous. And she was a snob. It was adorable. We used to joke around about it, about how different we were, actually. About why on earth she ever fell for a guy like me. The downside to it was that since the boys were around her so much more than they were around me, they picked up her love of opera instead of my love of baseball. They confided in her instead of in me. That's why living with Frasier has been so special to me. I feel like I finally got to know my son. I know I was hard on him at first, but -

There was this one time, though, when Niles was fifteen. There was this girl at his sister school, Susan Bergman. She was in the science club, and the schools had a lot of after-school activities together, so he'd talked to her as much as he'd dared, and he'd fallen hard for her.

One night, I couldn't sleep. I'd had a tough day – we'd scared an armed robber in a convenience store, and he'd opened fire. No one was hurt, but it was nerve-wracking. I was sitting in kitchen drinking a beer and thinking about the day when Niles came in, wearing those map-of-the-world pajamas that he was way too old for. He looked at me with this mournful, pleading gaze. "Dad, can I talk to you?" he asked me.

It surprised me – he'd never talked to me about anything serious in his life before. But I understood – Frasier was in his first year at Harvard by then, so he wasn't there for his brother. So I just nodded, and he came and sat down, and it all came pouring out. How he'd asked this girl Susan to a dance at his school, and how she'd laughed. Laughed.

And I told him then what I told him now. That he was strong. That he could do anything.

The next day, I took off of work and took him to a Mariners game. That was one of the most special days of my life. It was one of the only days I really felt like a dad.

Of course, there was one thing I told him back then that I couldn't tell him now – that the girl wasn't worth his time.

Now, his face fell a little more, and he choked back a sob. "Dad..."

"You're strong, Niles." I looked over at him. "How'd you feel about taking the day off tomorrow for a Mariners game, son?"

He looked over at me, a touch of a smile on his lips. "I'd like that, Dad."

You know, maybe this would work out after all.

* * *

I stood in front of my house, terrified to knock on the door. It struck me as strange that I had to knock at all. I'd lived there for a lifetime. Or it felt like it.

I clutched the handkerchief I'd been wringing in my hands and took a deep breath. I raised my right hand and knocked.

It didn't take him long to get to the door. It was almost as if he'd been standing right behind it. He looked up at me, his kind eyes filled with pain. I felt like crying. "Daphne," he said.

I nodded. "Donny."

"I'm sorry, Daphne."

* * *

"I'm sorry, too, Donny," she said. She was crying. And I knew she didn't just mean that she was sorry for what had happened. She meant she was sorry for what was about to happen, too. I took a deep breath and braced myself.

"Would you like to come in?"

She nodded. "I'd like that."

She walked in, glancing timidly around the place as if she hadn't lived here, as if she expected to find it completely unfamiliar. Yes, Daphne, once you left, I decided to knock down all the walls and turn the house into an ice-skating rink.

She made her way into the living room and sat down on the sofa with that same timid air, clutching her purse in her lap, as if she hadn't picked every damn piece of furniture in the room out personally.

I sat in the wing chair across from her, my posture the opposite of her stiff physique. I slumped forward, my elbows on my knees, my hands clasped between them. "So."

She looked up. "So."

Damn it. Why doesn't she just say it? 'I'm leaving you for Niles.' That's what I want to hear, you know. It would give me a reason to hate her, just a little bit. Ever since I told her to leave, to leave me for him, I've hoped in my heart that she'd come back. And if she didn't come back, I hoped she'd go to him, because then I could justify my anger to myself.

But she just fingered that damned silver bracelet on her wrist. The one he gave her. As if it's a secret. "I guess you're leaving, then."

She looked at me, imploring me to... something. To forgive her? "I'm so, so sorry, Donny."

And I believed her. Her eyes were glistening. She looked torn. She looked truly sorry.

I forgave her for everything she'd ever done, and I hoped like I'd never hoped that she could do the same for me.

I wonder if anyone could be angry with this woman.

I went over to sit next to her on the sofa and took her hands. Smiled wryly. "It's all right, you know." She looked at me, a question in her eyes. "I mean, I've sort of been waiting for this for a long time, now."

She cocked her head. "Even before you told me to go?"

I nodded. "Way before that. Way back in Seattle. Because, Daph, I've always sort of known I didn't deserve you. That it was some weird mistake on the part of fate that you were with me, and that as soon as whoever does fate's paperwork realized they'd made a mistake, you'd be gone." I smiled. "So I took you away from Seattle, and I hoped you'd forget that you deserve so much better. Something extraordinary."

She shook her head harshly. Her cheeks were wet. "That's not true. Any woman should be happy to be with you. I'm just..." She shook her head. "I don't deserve something extraordinary. I just want more than I deserve. It's not your fault that I want too much." She smiled a bit and patted my shoulder. "You deserve someone who appreciates you." She grinned. "And speaking of that, you know, at our last dinner party, that new lawyer with your firm, what's her name – Becky? – I caught her gazing at you dreamily."

I laughed. I couldn't believe I was laughing. My life is falling apart, and I'm laughing. "Will you tell me one thing, Daphne?"

She nodded solemnly. "Anything."

I looked down at my hands. "Is he extraordinary, Daphne? Because, really, Daphne – you don't deserve anything less."

She took a deep breath. "He makes me feel extraordinary. And that's all I want."

I nodded, and she left. That Saturday, she came back, and together, we set to work boxing up the things she wanted – surprisingly little. Five boxes, and a few more of her art and her supplies. Isn't that how many she sent here from Seattle? The thought made me feel a bit sad. Daphne has so little to show for her time here.

I told her I'd post the boxes on Monday – To Roz's? I asked; To Frasier's, she responded. They've moved in together. What is it about women I've been involved with and Crane men?

At the door, I reached out to hug her. "I'll miss you, Daph. I love you."

She nodded. "Thank you for everything, Donny."

She walked away, toward her Audi coupe, waved as she got in car, and drove away. I let out the breath I was holding.

How does that George Harrison song go? "You are the breath of life itself." Oh yes, you are, Daphne.

* * *

I walked into the kitchen to be confronted by a strange sight. Alice was jumping down from the counter in the middle of the kitchen and scurrying around me, ostensibly in the direction of her room, and Roz was -

"What are you doing?"

She looked up at me, her eyes squinted in a way that let me know I was in for a sarcastic retort. "I'm mixing a potion for the hex I'm about to cast on you. What's it look like I'm doing? I'm washing the dishes."

And she surely was. Roz Doyle, the woman who had been known to buy brownies for Alice's bake sale – as well as a dirty apron to make it look as though she had actually baked them – at Café Nervosa – was being domestic. "Awww, honey, you cleaned." I grinned. "Now what were you saying about hexes? You're certainly casting one on me."

The next thing I knew, I had soap suds all over my nose. And that became war. By the time she was sliding across the sopping wet kitchen floor, she was laughing.

I shook my head as I stood, making as if to leave her there. "That's it, Roz. We're getting a housekeeper. You obviously don't have the skill for this."

She pulled me back down. "I don't know what you're talking about. I think I cast a pretty good hex."

That she did.

* * *

We sat on a bench in the Common, listening to a street band perform its customary set. We came here almost every Saturday, actually. The band was awesome. It was one of my favorite things to do with Daphne.

But right now, I was definitely not in as bright a mood as I would normally be on a Saturday.

I cleared my throat as the band finished a set and split up for a break. "Daphne, you're leaving tomorrow, aren't you?"

She looked over at me a smiled. "I think so, Fred. Back to Seattle."

I took a deep breath. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I only decided myself today."

I'm almost as tall as she is, now, you know. I'm almost fourteen. I feel so old. But then I cry when I think about her leaving, and I don't feel old at all. An almost-fourteen year old shouldn't cry. Right?

Then why was I choking back tears? "Will you stay there?"

She gazed at the band's drums without seeing them. "I hope so, Freddie. I really, really hope so. If I don't –" She stopped and forced a smile, as if it's something I don't know. But I know what she was going to say. If she doesn't stay in Seattle, she won't have anywhere to go.

I was pretty little when my dad first decided to leave home, but I remember it. It's one of those things you don't forget. He spent a weekend packing up all his stuff and then spent a week driving across the country. But about a week before he actually moved away, he flew out to Seattle get his job and apartment and stuff in order. I knew he was leaving. Mom had explained in her weird way. And so I didn't want to let him go to the airport. I wouldn't let go of him and was crying and stuff.

Hey! I was little! I was allowed to back then!

Mom finally agreed to take me to the airport to see his plane off. We had to wait a while for Dad's flight, and I was still in hysterics, so while we were sitting there in the terminal, he picked me up on his lap and told me about how sad Uncle Niles used to get when Grandma left town on business. About how he told everyone she was a bird, flying. Free.

I don't know if that was supposed to help. It didn't, because let me tell you, if there is anything my dad is NOT, it's a bird. If he were a bird, he'd be a dodo. But, no, he's more like... a badger. And badgers obviously don't fly.

But Daphne IS a bird.

I don't know if Uncle Niles really thought about it when he was little, but being a bird isn't really that great a thing. Being a bird involves fighting for life. A bird lays its eggs, but how many of those eggs will hatch? How many of those babies will actually survive until adulthood? And then, once the babies ARE adult birds, their lives are a constant struggle for survival. Their nests are torn and destroyed, so they have to build new homes. They have to migrate. There's nothing constant in the life of a bird.

We look at birds, and we wish we could be like them. Because they're beautiful, and they're graceful, and they're peaceful, and they're pure, and they fly. And it looks so easy for them. If we got closer, though, we could see their struggle.

That's how Daphne is. She's a bird without a home right now. She's still looking.

She changed the subject. "So how was your date the other night, Fred?"

I nodded. "It wasn't really a date..."

She rolled her eyes at me. Yes, it was a date. All right, all right. "So how was your 'not really a date' the other night, Freddie?"

I nodded. "It was fun." I paused. "I really like Gina."

Daphne nodded. "I should think so. She'd very pretty."

Gina was a bird, too, you know. I think that's one thing I like about her. "It's more than that, though. She's really smart, too. Talking to her is wonderful."

We listened to the band for a little while before I asked her another question. "Do you think Mom will marry Marc, Daphne?"

She closed her eyes. "Yes. Yes, I think she will, Fred. He makes her happy."

I nodded. "I think so, too. I like him." I paused. "Do you think Dad will marry Roz?"

Her brow furrowed. She was thinking. That's what I like most about Daphne. She always takes me seriously. "Not straight away, no. Eventually. Someday."

I nodded again. "Will you marry Uncle Niles, Daphne? Will you be my aunt?"

She looked down at me. And changed the subject. "Written any more poems in that book of yours, Fred?"

I started writing poetry this summer. Okay, okay. So I'm an almost-eighth grade boy who cries at the thought of Daphne leaving and who writes poetry. I DO play squash, though, and I'm pretty good. That's got to count for SOMETHING, right?

I shook my head. "Not since you saw it the other day." She's the only person I show it to, the only person who even knows it exists. "I'm thinking about writing something about birds, though."

Daphne glanced wistfully over her shoulder at a nearby tree. A group of birds had alighted there. Now, since it was summer, the leaves of the tree completely blocked my view of the street beyond. If it were winter, the view would be entirely different. And the birds would have gone south.

"Are you sure, Fred?" The wistfulness had moved into her voice. "Birds are such tragic creatures."

"I know. That's why I want to write about them. It wouldn't make a good poem if they weren't."

She looked at me a little strangely, almost like she was trying to read my mind, nodded, and asked the lead singer to play Blackbird. He grinned at her and winked and commented on the song with his best John Lennon impression.

After a couple more songs, I followed Daphne to the T-stop so we could get back to Back Bay and I could call my dad about a summer reading assignment for school.

Want to hear something weird? I love the smell of the T, all rubber and gas. I don't know why. Maybe because I associate it with Daphne. But really, who on earth would say they liked the smell of a subway station, you're thinking.

Maybe... a natural-born poet.

* * *

"An old proverb fetched from the outward and visible world says: 'Only the man that works hard gets the bread,'" says Soren Kierkegaard. "Strangely enough this proverb does not aptly apply in that world to which it expressly belongs. For the outward world is subjected to the law of imperfection, and again and again the experience is repeated that he too who does not work gets the bread, and that he who sleeps gets it more abundantly than the man who works."

Frasier came by this evening, after Dad and that senile dog of his had already gone to bed. As I sat on my fainting couch in my dressing gown, sipping a glass of French wine, I heard a knock on my door. And, for a moment, as has been the case each time I've had a visitor over the past few weeks, my heart leapt with the thought that it might be Daphne.

It wasn't. Frasier pushed my door open and walked past me into my living room. I expected him to chastise me about my behavior, about my despondency over Daphne. I hung my head in anticipation.

He didn't. "Niles, do you have a copy of Kierkegaard's Repetition? It's an emergency."

What kind of person other than he has an emergency of this nature?

He continued. "I've been to three libraries and two bookstores, and no one has it." He rolled his eyes. "After all the times I've had to spell 'Kierkegaard' to people this evening, the least you could do is loan me your copy for my pain."

I glanced at him in confusion as I went to my bookshelf, shoving aside the ridiculous dragon that I used on my top shelf as a bookend. Gift from Roz, you know. "A Kierkegaardian crisis? Not to the degree of Abraham's, I should hope. I suppose we should be happy that Frederick is in Boston."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, Niles. Your erudite sense of humor never ceases to amuse me."

I pulled the dusty volume away from its companions and handed it to him. "Be careful, Frasier. That was Mom's." He nodded as he took the book. "Where's your copy, at any rate, Frasier?"

He grimaced. "I believe I might have lent it to... I..." He stumbled and finally admitted the truth: "I'm afraid that perhaps I simply never had a copy, Niles." He hung his head in shame, as if this were some crime. My brother is terribly touchy.

"And why do you suddenly need a copy?"

"Frederick asked me a question about it for a summer reading project. And you and I both know how much I love Kierkegaard –" Indeed. Which is why he didn't have a copy of this. "But I... I... I couldn't immediately recall the answer. I knew it, you see, but I couldn't... immediately..." He paused. "And Marc Goldberg would have known the answer! So I told him that someone was at the door and that I'd call him back."

I shook my head. "Oh, Frasier. Well, you go to it. And bring that back."

He glanced down at the book. "Mom's? Why did you get this?"

I smiled. "Because I was the one who loved Kierkegaard, Frasier, not you."

He left, then, to work his magic on that manipulative son of his. That son of his who was probably with Daphne at this very minute. But before he left, he turned around toward me. "Go out, Niles. Do something. Don't just sit in here waiting for her."

You know, he was good. When he first came, I was prepared for the admonishment. He caught me unawares. But he didn't inspire me out of my reverie, and once he left, I simply looked back at the bookshelf and saw that, leaning against the dragon, was my mother's old copy of Fear and Trembling.

My mother was never a terribly religious person. None of my family has been. But a book like this can be read on so many levels. What intrigued her about Kierkegaard's exploration was the psychological profile of Abraham, the man who made, perhaps, the hardest choice ever made, the man who was willing, by faith alone, to sacrifice his son. She was intrigued by what Kierkegaard called Abraham's infinite resignation, the moment of reconcilement before the final movement to faith.

And now, I sit once again on my fainting couch, sipping another glass of that same wine, thumbing through Kierkegaard for an entirely different reason.

Kierkegaard tells a parable of sorts to illuminate his Knight of Infinite Resignation. "A young swain falls in love with a princess, and the whole content of his life consists in this love, and yet the situation is such that it is impossible for it to be realized, impossible for it to be translated from ideality into reality. The slaves of paltriness, the frogs in life's swamp, will naturally cry out, 'Such a love is foolishness. The rich brewer's widow is a match fully as good and respectable.' Let them croak in the swamp undisturbed. It is not so with the knight of infinite resignation, he does not give up his love, not for all the glory of the world. He is no fool."

Something in me doubts that Daphne will come back. And something else, something entirely different, tells me to give up. That second thing is the voice of Frasier, the voice of Roz. They tell me to give up. It's been... three weeks? And they're already telling me to give up. But I won't. Because I am the Knight of Infinite Resignation. I have been for ten years.

"First he makes sure that this really is the content of his life, and his soul is too healthy and too proud to squander the least thing upon an inebriation. He is not cowardly, he is not afraid of letting love creep into his most secret, most hidden thoughts, to let it twine in innumerable coils about every ligament of his consciousness – if the love becomes an unhappy one, he will never be able to tear himself loose from it. He feels a blissful rapture in letting love tingle through every nerve, and yet his soul is as solemn as that of the man who has drained the poisoned goblet and feels how the juice permeates every drop of blood – for this instant is life and death."

And when he risks all, tells her of his love by means of winged messengers, and they all come back as "messengers of sorrow, and declare to him that it is an impossibility, then he becomes quiet, he dismisses them, he remains alone." And that is when he "concentrates the whole content of life and the whole significance of reality in one single wish."

My love for Daphne is the religious experience of which Kierkegaard speaks. Frasier and Roz want me to forget her, even now, but the Knight of Infinite Resignation will never forget: "the knight remembers everything, but precisely this remembrance is pain, and yet by the infinite resignation he is reconciled with existence. Love for that princess became for him the expression for an eternal love." He goes on to say something which has always touched me: "Fools and young men prate about everything being possible for a man. That, however, is a great error. Spiritually speaking, everything is possible, but in the world of the finite there is much which is not possible."

When I was a freshman at Yale, I took a class in the history of Western religious thought. When I was very young, my mother read to me Kierkegaard's parable of the Knight almost as a bedtime story. I absorbed it solemnly, but it wasn't until I read it in college that I felt the magnitude of the Knight's decision. Instead of moving on, he remains true to himself and that one, single wish. "He keeps this love young, and along with him it increases in years and beauty."

Hasn't it?

"He recollects her in an eternal sense."

Don't I?

"Lo, time passed, the princess did something else, she married – a prince, let us say." And, nonetheless, the Knight holds onto his love "just as young as it was in its first moment, he never lets it go from him, precisely because he makes the movements infinitely. What the princess does, cannot disturb him."

I'll love Daphne forever, I'm sure. I've been down the route of attempting to abandon that love. It didn't work.

Perhaps Daphne's behavior in Paris was the consequence of many things besides me – the stress of her breakup from Donny, to name one. Perhaps she won't come back. Perhaps I'll never have her. I'm resigned to that.

But – "If on the other hand the princess is likeminded, the beautiful consequence will be apparent... The two will preserve their love young and sound, she also will have triumphed over her pains."

If Daphne decides to come to me, she'll do it for herself.

Maybe I wasn't the Knight ten years ago after all. Maybe I've only just become him in my resignation. But, in my resignation, I'm at peace with whatever happens. I never believed I could be. But I am.

Of course, then, in Kierkegaard's fable, most greatly, "if ever the moment were to come which offered to give love its expression in time, then they will be capable of beginning precisely at the point where they would have begun if originally they had been united."

Imagine that. And what would that point have been? That night we went to dinner and then went skating – that's when it would have begun. It's the same every time I see her. It's as if there weren't three years between us.

And so I am resigned and committed. Unchanging.

Or perhaps I'm not. Perhaps I'm more than the Knight of Infinite Resignation. Perhaps I'm like Abraham, and I am the Knight of Faith. "I believe nevertheless that I shall get her, in virtue, that is, of the absurd." This Knight knows that what he wants is impossible. He knows, but he has faith in the absurd. Abraham had faith – the whole time, as he walked Isaac to the mountain, when Isaac asked him where the lamb was, even to the point that he would have raised the knife – that he would not be made to kill his son. Complete faith. Faith in the absurd. And he was rewarded. I have that faith, that faith in the impossible.

Perhaps I've... I've always had this faith. When she dated Joe. When she married Donny. When she sent me home from Paris.

Yes, I understand that Kierkegaard is speaking of something much more profound that my own personal trials and that I'm bastardizing his intention to take his words so literally. In his own confusion, Kierkegaard tries to explain to himself Abraham's unexplainable act of faith. And he does this in terms of the Knight resigned in love. The Knight who will risk everything for that love and is resigned in whatever fate allots to him; Abraham, who has faith that God will not let him murder his child but will be resigned with what happens.

But – I've said before and I'll say again – my love for Daphne is religious to me, as Kierkegaard's religion is a... a love story to him. So why shouldn't I compare?

I wonder if people would find it amusing that, while anyone else might compare their romances to television programs, movies, or novels, I compare mine to Kierkegaard.

As I close the book and set it on my coffee table and take a last, lingering sip of wine, I am given new faith. I reach for the absurd, though I am resigned in the impossibility of it all.

And I concentrate on my single wish.

Let her come home.

* * *

"I can't believe we have to be here, Frasier. Today of all days."

True, my brother did look distinctly uncomfortable in his monkey suit, but there was no reason in my mind for today to be any different than yesterday or last week or next Thursday. And when asked, Niles simply responded, "It's an issue of faith."

"Whatever you say, brother. All I know is that you RSVP'd two months ago that you would attend this museum benefit, and since I am the chairman, if you hadn't, I would have hunted you down. So here you are." He sighed in resignation. "Where are Mel and Michael?"

My brother slumped slightly. "Talking to the Jensons by the bar." I glanced around the museum's ballroom, trying to spot them, until my brother spoke again. "Where's Roz, Frasier?"

"Why she's right over –" I pointed, only to realize that she was, indeed, not right over there. "I should go find her."

Niles nodded. "Look, Frasier, I've made my appearance and my donation. I think I'm going to go home, now."

I frowned. "If that's what you want, Niles."

He nodded and walked slowly out of the room.

Now, to find Roz, the woman of the hour. This was our first public appearance as a couple. I'd put off most of the social functions that had presented themselves until I knew that things between us were steady, stable... And now, I had no idea where she'd wandered off to.

I scanned the ballroom, but I couldn't find her. And trust me, if she were there, she would be found; her dress is bright teal, a beacon of light amidst all this black.

I stood outside the women's room for about ten minutes and then wandered the museum for another twenty. And I finally found her, and not at all where I expected to.

I expected her to be, in typical Roz fashion, schmoozing by the bar, blowing away all these stuffed shirts with her smart, witty jabs and boldness.

What I found was very different. My Roz, my courageous, resilient Roz, was crouched under a Renoir in a dimly lit back room of the second floor of the museum, her head in her hands. Whispers of the Shubert performed so beautifully by the quartet downstairs floated up to us, creating a tragic image.

I watched her for a few moments before she saw me. She brought her head up and took several shaky breaths while whispering to herself. "Get it together, Roz. Just get it together."

"Roz."

Her head shot up, and she tried to smile. "Frasier. Damn you, you're supposed to be downstairs. You're not supposed to see me like this. Can't you ever be predictable?"

"When you start being predictable." She started to stand, wiping her eyes as she rose. I watched her from across the darkened room. "Tell me what's wrong, honey."

She started to laugh it off, still swiping at her cheeks. "Nothing. I just... panic attack or something. People have those, right?"

I watched her closely, taking a few steps closer to her. "I'm serious, Roz. What's wrong?"

Her face crumpled, and she leaned back heavily against the wall between the Renoir and the adjacent painting. "I can't do this, Frasier."

It didn't occur to me to fear the status of our relationship or to be nervous for myself at all. Perhaps for the first time, I didn't think of myself at all. I closed the gap between us and took her by the shoulders. "Do what, honey? No one's asking you to do anything. You don't need to do anything."

She broke from my grasp and strode to the center of the room. She turned defiantly toward me, still swiping vaguely at her ever-moist cheeks. "Yes, I do, Frasier. Don't you get that? It was one thing when I was your good pal, Roz, and you brought me to these parties. My being here wouldn't have meant anything to these people except, maybe, 'Wow, Frasier spends time with some odd sorts, sometimes, doesn't he?' And I would have gotten a kick out of showing them what asses they are. But now I've got to impress them, Frasier, and I can't. I can't. That's what you need from me, and I can't do it. Being here makes me feel like a second-class citizen, and that's what I am next to these women." She stopped. Her eyes still shone. "Do you remember what Daphne said about not being able to be what Donny needed for her to be?"

I stared at her, mouth open, agog, and nodded dumbly.

"I just can't be what you need for me to be, Frasier."

It took me a few seconds of staring at her in confusion to respond, and I don't think I completely understood her worries even then. After all, what more could I possibly need? "Roz, all I need for you to be is you. Just you."

She put her hands on her hips and stared at me, skeptically, as if she were waiting for me to tell her that I'd just lied to her and that I really needed for her to be the Queen Mother.

"God, honey, why do you even care about impressing those women? A second-class citizen? Roz, they pale in comparison to you."

She smiled just slightly. "You know what I was thinking about doing?" I shook my head, smiling with her. "I was thinking about walking around that ballroom and accidentally bumping into some of them so they'd spill champagne all over their pretty little outfits." She grinned. "But then I realized that they were all wearing black, so it wouldn't do nearly as much damage as I wanted."

I don't really know what possessed me. I barely even remember saying it. But she was standing there looking so impish in that gregarious teal dress and at the same time more vulnerable than I'd seen her since Alice was born...

"Marry me, Roz." I was as shocked as she was. More. I'd just proposed? How did that happen?

She looked dumbfounded, truly. She stared at me for a few moments, her face registering entirely too much disbelief for my taste, before yelping loudly, "What?"

I fumbled. "I said... cherry tree?"

She smirked. "No, you didn't. Say it again."

I thought for a couple seconds, and I realized why I felt so confused. I felt confused because this didn't feel strange at all. This felt all right. So I grinned. "Well, then, if you know what I didn't say, you evidently heard my little idea the first time. What do you think?"

She shook her head, but I could tell that she was amused. "I think you're crazy."

"You've been taking good notes as usual during my show, Roz. I can tell."

"The last thing I want right now is some huge party to plan..."

"Then let's not have a huge party. Let's go to Costa Rica, just the two of us."

She leered at me. She's the only woman I know who can leer gracefully. "Frasier, that could be dangerous. I could be tempted to run off with some sexy, nineteen year old beach bum."

I sighed dramatically. "If you were anyone else I'd think you were joking. Paris, then."

"I'll constantly be reminded of Niles and Daphne locked in a hotel room. Try again."

"Rome."

"Too close to the Pope for comfort. He might sense my presence and decide to damn me then and there." I rolled me eyes.

I pouted. "Roooozzzzz, why are none of my ideas good enough?" She knows I whine and loves me regardless.

She put her hands back on her hips and rolled her eyes. "Don't be a baby, Frasier. We'll compromise. Our apartment."

What? "How is that a compromise?"

"And then we'll do a trip to Rome once you've tried to make a somewhat honest woman of me, how's that?"

I smiled, walked toward her, and took her in my arms. "Sounds perfect." Except one thing... I backed away from her and scrutinized her face. "Should I be worried about sexy Italian guys? Or will the language barrier stand in the way?"

She made a good show of seeming deep in thought. "No, no, language has never stopped me before." A pause. "Well, see, the difference is that the beach bums would be mostly naked, whereas the Italian guys will be clothed. So I think you're safe, Frasier."

I smiled. "Wow. We're engaged."

Suddenly, her smile faded. "Frasier... are you sure? I don't want to do this unless you really want it."

I hugged her tightly. "Honey, you're my best friend. Of course I'm sure." I paused. "Come back down to the party?"

She shot me an evil look. "How about we go back home instead? Give the Pope one more thing to be mad at me about?"

I don't like to concede defeat (primarily because I'm so seldom wrong, you know), but this time I will admit it: her idea was better.

* * *

I walked into the Montana after I left the reception feeling weary. More weary than I could remember. I was tired of everything. Tired of these stupid benefits. Tired of Seattle weather. Tired of forgetting about Seattle weather and thus forgetting my umbrella on a night as wet as this one.

Tired of waiting.

I would wait forever, but it made me feel tired.

My doorman, Simmons, has been at the Montana forever. If I think back to those days of my youth when I used to look at this building longingly, I can almost remember seeing him, tipping his hat to the residents who came in and greeting them cheerfully in his very English accent. He, evidently, wasn't tired tonight. Quite chipper, in fact, as usual.

"Doctor Crane! How's your night been? You look a little under the weather." He grinned, and I attempted a nod to acknowledge his good humor. "I had a lovely chat with that English lady friend of yours who used to come by so frequently, Doctor Crane. I told her she could leave a message for you, but she said she'd taken care of it. I always used to love talking to her," he remarked wistfully. "Such a shame she went away."

I swallowed. "Eh – would you say that again? Who came by?"

His brow furrowed. "What?"

Right. Simmons' short-term memory isn't what it used to be. "Never mind." Dazed and, at the same time, depleted, I said goodbye to him. I wanted to cry, but I didn't think I had the energy. I had missed her. She had come to me, and I had missed her. Certainly, in all likelihood, I would see her soon, but why couldn't that have been tonight? Fate plays tricks on me.

I arrived at the blue foyer that welcomed me to my front door feeling light-headed. Wouldn't she have waited for me if this meeting were to be good? Dad was home; he would have let her in. Did she even knock?

He was sitting on my fainting couch, staring at the eyesore – the television – he'd forced me to place in my sitting room. He claims he can't find his way to the entertainment room. I find that hard to believe; my apartment isn't really very big. I sat down beside him and watched the tv for a few moments. He was watching baseball, a game that I now understand to some degree. "So, Dad, which team has more points?"

He took a deep breath but didn't look at me. "Runs, Niles. Runs."

"Oh. Right."

We sat there for a few more minutes before he finally muted the tv and turned toward me. "What do you want, Niles?"

I frowned. "Can't I just want to watch a match with you?"

"Game, Niles."

"Oh. Right." I paused. "I guess Daphne didn't come by."

He frowned. "Should she have?"

I shrugged and tried to think of something impartial to say. "I think she's in town."

He sighed and put his hand on my arm. "I'm sorry, Niles. No one's been by, and she hasn't called."

All I could do was nod until I regained my composure. "Right. All right." I glanced around the room and suddenly felt as though I wouldn't be able to stand staying there another second. "You know, Dad, I think I might go up to my office for a while. There're some things I need to take care of."

"At ten?"

"Urgent things."

He nodded as I stood and pulled my trenchcoat around me. "Niles, you know you can talk to me."

I turned to him from where I stood at the door. And I knew he was right. "I know, Dad. Thank you." I opened the door and started to walk out before turning back to him. "Dad, we had a good time the other day at the game, didn't we?"

He smiled and nodded. "Yeah, son, we did."

I nodded, turned quickly, and walked into the hallway, not turning back again. I thought he might've called to me again, but I thought that, were I to speak to him, I'd break down completely. And I didn't think I could handle that.

* * *

I paced up and down the small motel room I had rented when I got to Seattle.

He hadn't called.

It was two in the morning, and he hadn't called.

So he either hasn't gotten home yet, or he got home, saw my note, and simply didn't want to call me.

If he hasn't gotten home yet, then I didn't want to think about where he might be. Simmons said he was at the museum benefit, which must've ended around eleven. If he went to his brother's apartment after that, he might've stayed a while, but not this late. I couldn't think about what that meant. Not right now.

Of course, if he'd gotten home and simply not wanted to call... Bloody hell. That was even worse.

Freddie wrote a poem about me. Well, it wasn't ostensibly about me. It was about birds. But the way he broached it to me made his subject a bit obvious. "Now, remember, Daphne, this is completely hypothetical. It's not about a real person. It's hypothetical. I don't know anyone like this." He's a fine little poet, but he's a horrid liar. I suppose poets always are truth-tellers, aren't they?

This poem was a truth-telling, that's for certain. I was prepared for a little display of adolescent infatuation. But I read it, and I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. He painted me as a bird – a creature without a home. He talked in metaphoric language about my coming back to Seattle, to try to find my home. He put into words my greatest fear: that I would be rejected here and would be left alone, without a home, forever.

He's only thirteen years old. He's not supposed to understand so much.

If Niles doesn't want me, doesn't even want to speak to me, what's left? I know he was upset when he left Paris. But I took his feelings for granted; I assumed they were a constant. I didn't think he'd ever refuse me.

And suddenly, all I wanted in the world was to talk to him. Even if he didn't want to listen, even if he wouldn't talk to me. I wanted to go to him and cry with him and tell him everything I'd felt for the past three years. I wanted to tell him what scared me, and what made me happy. I wanted to reassure him.

I took a deep breath and picked up the phone. I tried to prepare myself for his voice.

Which meant that I definitely wasn't prepared for the gruff voice which, having been awakened from sleep, roughly greeted me after six rings. "What."

"Eh... hello?"

"Who's this."

"Mister Crane, is that you? I thought I called the Montana."

I could imagine him sitting up, shaking himself a bit, and trying to figure out where he was and who I was. "You did. Daph, is that you?"

"Yes, old man," I retorted, before I remembered that I really didn't know where I stood with him. More timidly: "I'm sorry to wake you."

"Ah, s'all right. You looking for Niles?"

I took a deep breath. "Yes, I suppose I am. Is he at home?"

His reply was sharp. "No, he's not."

I swallowed and took a deep breath. "Oh. All right. I'll just... erm... Oh, bloody –"

"Daph, stop. He went to his office about..." He must've been glancing at a clock, because the next thing I heard was Eddie barking and Mister Crane shouting, "Jeez, Daph, it's two in the morning!" I cringed. "He went to his office a few hours ago. He's not back yet, or he damn well would've answered his own phone."

I frowned. "His office?"

He paused. "I think he was upset."

I sighed. "He was?"

"Daph, before you hang up to call him or go down there, I'm going to tell you something, and you're going to listen to me." He sounded stern and scolding. I'd never quite heard him take on this tone before, and it made me nervous, as if he was my own father and about to punish me. "I know you're no Susan Bergman. If you were, I would have told him to get on with his life ten years ago." I flinched. I didn't quite know what he was talking about, but I understood what he was trying to tell me. "Daphne, I love you. You know I love you. But I have a fatherly duty to my son. He's been hurting for a long time, Daphne. If you're just going to hurt him again, don't. Don't. Just go away now if that's where this is leading."

I was crying. "I'm so sorry..."

"Don't tell me that. Tell him."

I nodded even though he couldn't see me. "I'll... I'll... Goodnight, Mister Crane."

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Daph?"

I was still crying and couldn't manage to do more than murmur, "I hope so."

"Goodnight, Daph." He paused. "I do love you, Daph. We all do. Although Frasier'll love you more when you take your dog back."

I smiled around my tears. "I love you, too, Mister Crane." Then, with more certainty than I felt, "I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

I was thumbing through a volume of Jung and comprehending little when I heard the knock on my door. I glanced at my watch; it was well after two. Which meant that it was, in all likelihood, my brother come to torment me. "Frasier, I know you won't listen if I tell you to go home, so you might as well come in."

The door opened a fraction, and the face that peered in was most decidedly not Frasier's.

When she used to come to my office years ago, I always rose and practically bowed in deference to her as she entered. But now I was so tired. "Hello," I said. I didn't think I could manage more. I was so, so tired.

"Were you expecting him?" she whispered.

I shook my head. "No. It just made sense that he would come."

She had come in and closed the door behind her. Her hands were clasped behind her back. "And it didn't make sense that I would?"

I sighed. How to answer that? "No, Daphne, it didn't."

I realized that neither of us was moving. I wondered for a moment what something so simple might say about our relationship. Would she come to me? She'd been running for three years. Would she expect me to come to her? To fall at her feet? I would have a month ago, two weeks ago, a week ago; but I was so weary from chasing her.

She swallowed audibly; she looked away from me, and it was obvious that she fought back tears. "There're about a thousand things I want to tell you at once."

I glanced at the clock. It was almost three. What did Fitzgerald say in The Crack-Up, again? "In the real dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning." The real dark night of the soul. Was that this doubt I felt? This dead, floating feeling?

"Tell me one of them."

She looked down at me, and before I knew it, she was on her knees before me. "The first is that I'm sorry." I blinked. It would take me a while to process this moment. She had come to me. She had willingly come to me after running. And she had apologized. For what? For all that had happened in the past, or for something that would happen? For the prior, I was sure; the doubt lifted. She had come to me.

I smiled down at her. "You don't have to be. Tell me something else."

She laughed a bit through the tears that had begun to fall. "All right, here's something. Do you remember when I went to that psychiatrist about that fit I had, when I threw that woman's clothes..." She looked down. "You remember."

I laughed at her embarrassment as I sunk down to the floor to sit beside her. "I remember."

"And do you remember the near-breakdown I had after my session? I know you knew that it was me in the elevator."

I nudged her with my elbow. "Then why are you asking me?"

She cocked an eyebrow and swiped at her cheek. "Because you don't know that it was all your fault." And she told me every detail. About her expectations at that stupid shower; about her realization at the session. "So, you see, I'd loved you for a long time, but that was the first time I really saw..."

I swallowed. "Is there more that you want to tell me?"

She nodded. "So much more. Like... Donny's sending me divorce papers any day now."

Would it be rude to smile when you hear someone's getting a divorce? I tried not to, really. "Oh."

"Or... that I'm so happy. So happy that I might have finally found my home but so scared that you'll turn me away."

I shook my head. "No..."

"Or... that I'm through running."

"You're here to stay, then?"

"You can't make me leave."

"I wouldn't try."

"Or how much I want to have children, and how I grieve every day that I never will."

I watched her solemnly. "We still could." Had I just said that? Really? How bold of me. She beamed at me.

And then she sighed. "And there's one more thing that I need to tell you very badly."

I closed my eyes. "You can tell me anything."

"Niles, three years ago, I found out who I was for the first time. But then, I lost myself. I've spent the past three years trying to find myself again, but I only ended up running from that realization, fighting against it. Tilting at windmills and all that." She paused. "I've finally rediscovered myself, Niles."

I smiled. "I love you, Daphne. I always have."

She watched me sincerely with her huge doe-eyes. "I love you, too, Niles."

And then I kissed her for the first time since Paris, if Paris was even real.

I began to rediscover her.

And I was home.

**Rediscovering Daphne: A Chronicle**  
**Epilogue**

I glanced at my watch. Three in the morning, but I was too excited and too nervous to sleep. I looked back in the refrigerator. Nothing. Marc Goldberg must take Mom out to eat every night; there was no other explanation for the barren state of the kitchen.

I sighed and started back to bed when I noticed the light in the basement on. And so I detoured down to the tv room.

She was sitting on the futon, thumbing through the pages in an old notebook. "They're coming to get you, Barbara."

Her head shot up, and she smiled. "Well, if it isn't the Harvard graduate!"

I shook my head. "Not until tomorrow."

She cocked her head. "Speaking of which, shouldn't you be asleep? After all, if you're awake this late, you might as well have just stayed in your dorm and spent time with your friends tonight."

I rolled my eyes. "You know very well that I wanted to see you guys tonight. After all, I haven't seen Bella since winter, and she grows so fast." I slumped down on the futon beside her just in time for her to slap my arm.

"Don't say things like that! She grew quickly for the first six years, but I'm determined to keep her seven forever. One day, I'll let her grow up. Not today."

I smiled. "You let me grow up."

She shook her head. "You grew up behind my back. And speaking of your growing up, how's Hannah?"

"Perfect." I laughed. "No, she's... she's good. She's doing well. She's speaking tomorrow, you know."

She rolled her eyes, still smiling. "So you've said." All right, so apparently, I'd told her. Yeah, well, I was proud.

Hannah was a bird, too.

"So tell me off the record, Fred. What does your father really think of your majoring in English and religion and going off to graduate school? Four years ago, when you told him you weren't going to go into medicine, I think he went into hysterics. He hasn't said anything to me since then. What does he think now?"

She always picks the grittiest topic for discussion, doesn't she? "He's reconciled about graduate school, I think. He couldn't help but be proud that I'm going to Columbia, even though I think he wishes I'd accepted the position in Harvard's class. But Hannah will be in New York." She nodded. She's told me before she thinks it was a good decision. "About my aspirations of being a poet, I think he's less enthusiastic."

"You'll get some fantastic professorship and publish your poetry when you're not giving world-class lectures. He'll eat his words when you're the next Seamus Heaney."

I laughed at that. "If I had as much confidence in me as you do, I'll go a long way." I cleared my throat and tried to sound vaguely scolding. "So tell me, Daphne, what are you doing awake at this hour?"

"Well, if you must know, I was lying in bed thinking about how amazing it is that you're graduating from college tomorrow. And then I started thinking about how fast time has flown by. So I decided to come down here and look through some old journals. Try to reclaim some memories."

"Mind if I join you?"

She didn't, and together, through her drawings, we relived Dad's marriage to Roz, Mom's marriage to Marc, Roz's first day hosting her new show (called "Love and Sex" or "Sex and Love" or something involving sex), my graduation from high school. Daphne's pregnancy and Bella's birth and first seven years were carefully recorded. When we flipped to the next page, I took a deep breath, and she glanced over at me, her hand coming to rest on my arm. "Fred, your granddad would have been so, so proud of you right now."

I nodded. "I know he would have been."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, staring at her drawing of my grandad.

"Daphne?"

"Fred."

"Do you think you and Uncle Niles will ever get married?"

I'd never really talked to her about why they weren't. I wasn't sure if she'd get upset or not. She didn't. She just glanced over at me. "Do you think we should, Fred?"

I shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. No, not really. I was just wondering. You speak of him to people as your husband."

She smiled. "A long time ago, when Bella was first born, he asked the nurse if he could see his wife. And we both realized that we were already bound in every way that mattered." She stopped and wrinkled her brow. "Niles's marriage to Maris was nothing but an excuse for her to make him feel guilty every time he breathed. My marriage to Donny was my way of hiding from myself and from life. What we have is more than that."

I nodded. It made sense.

"Ever finish that bird poem of yours, Fred?"

I grinned and shook my head. "It's an unfinished masterpiece, I think."

Just then, I heard a familiar set of footsteps descending the stairs to the basement. Uncle Niles looked tired but surprisingly happy for close to four in the morning. "Aha! So here you are. Telling him scary stories, too, I suppose."

She rolled her eyes. "All the scary stories I know are about you. What are you talking about?"

He walked over and sat on the arm of the futon slightly behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "I think perhaps Bram Stoker was a bad choice for a bedtime story, love. Bella had a nightmare."

She sat up straighter, looking slightly indignant. "I'll have you know that my Grammy Moon read Dracula to me when I was younger than–" A pause. "Oh. Yes. I see what you mean."

He kissed her again. "Come to bed?"

She looked down at the journal in her lap and, apparently satisfied with her journey into her past – and with herself – nodded and closed it. She stood; and then she ruffled my hair, like I was thirteen again. She smiled down at me; she lit up the room. "We're proud of you, Fred."

"Thank you."

She took the arm he offered to her, then, and walked with him up the stairs and to the guest bedroom in which they were staying. She leaned toward him and whispered something in his ear. He smiled and lowered his head, laughing silently. And then they'd disappeared.

I leaned back and stretched my arms out across the back of the futon. I thought about tomorrow. Or, rather, today. It would be the beginning of my life. I thought about Hannah, about living in New York next year. But mostly, I thought about my uncle and Daphne.

An unfinished masterpiece. Yes, they are.

The beginnings of a poem began to float around in my head.

I fished my own journal from the shoulder bag I'd brought home from school and began to write.

* * *

end


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